


Jack of Diamonds

by ChocDog



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: Airplane Sex, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anne buys her sugar baby a Porsche and teaches her to drive it, Canon Compliant, Car Sex, Eventual Smut, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Virginity, Minor Character Death, Past Rape/Non-con, Semi-Public Sex, Shower Sex, Slow Burn, What more can I say, World Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-08-11 03:29:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20146867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocDog/pseuds/ChocDog
Summary: Anne Lister has it all. Money, power, women: what more could an inner Halifax drug lord possibly want? Long answer: a loyal wife at her side as she travels Europe, from the buzzing nightlife of Berlin to the sandy shores of Barcelona; and her help in turning the tides of the ongoing gang war against her rivals: the Rawsons.Short answer: Ann Walker.[a re-imagining of the Gentleman Jack story, set in present-day England where Ann is still the same shy, rich Ann we know and love, but Anne is an even richer, badass drug dealer]





	1. Chapter 1

Halifax. 

The same old dump that it was back when she left. 

_“Is this really where we are staying?”_ an irritated French voice asked from the passenger seat.

Anne gripped the wheel of the Bentley harder in irritation, chewing the nails of her free hand in the absence of a cigarette to calm her nerves. She’d been driving for hours without a single hit of nicotine, but because she’d splurged on the car only a day before leaving Hastings; she wasn’t about to ruin the plush seats with ash just yet. _“Yes,”_ she answered in the same tongue. _“And if you don’t like it feel free to run off back to Paris.”_

Anne couldn’t blame the poor girl; these were hardly the lavish Parisian streets Eugénie was used to that they were currently cruising past. There were no sweet-smelling cafes or romantic rooftop restaurants; only corner stores and liquor shops. Rusty cars slept lazily in front of sad statehouses, metal bars over the windows and shattered roof tiles littered on the ground.

No matter. Really, the surrounding poverty provided the perfect cover for the ludicrous wealth the Lister family was still sitting on after all these years. The Listers occupied one of the only homes worth more than a few grand in the entire district, yet it was tucked so far back into the ghetto, hardly anyone was even aware of its existence; let alone could be shocked by it. Only the surrounding residents really knew it was there, and they were hardly going to raise the alarm that a precious rich person had accidentally built a halfway decent house in a dump like this. Everyone knew whose territory it was. No one dared mess around with the House of Shibden.

It was quite a sight for someone who had lived in Halifax all their life, perhaps, but Anne saw it just how she did when she’d left; an embarrassment. She continued to bite at her fingers as the Bentley rumbled down the uneven driveway, the crunch of rocks beneath the car threatening to pierce the tyres at any second. She would have made a mental note to fix that at some point, yet as they approached the Hall itself, Anne quickly decided she would be writing an entire mental essay if she tried making notes of every detail that required her attention.

The once pristine lawns had been colonized by an invasive species of weeds, fat wasps and flies enjoying the spoils of this conquest as they buzzed around them. The singular car in the 2-vehicle carport was the same beaten up Volkswagen that Anne has gotten her license in, far too old and unsafe by now to be the family car of a house such as hers. The walls, gate, and even the ground of the estate had been tagged by local small-time gangs Anne had never cared to learn the real names of. As far as she and the rest of Halifax were concerned; she was the only name worth remembering around these parts.

Anne swung the Bentley sharply to the left as she approached the carport until she was at 90o to its entrance, before bracing her hand on the passenger seat and looking over her shoulder to reverse in. Eugénie was visible through her peripheral vision, but Anne was too focused on directing the rather large car into the space left of the Volkswagen to acknowledge what she knew was still the same scowl she’d had when they’d left Hastings. _“You live here now, you’ll have to get over it eventually,”_ Anne shouted over the loud beep of the car’s built-in parking assist, alerting her that she was only inches away from scratching her rear bumper on the back wall of the carport. Annoying little thing. Anne had learned to park before cars came with screens; she had no use for such nagging. 

Eugénie still did not respond after Anne cut off the engine, leaving the pair sitting awkwardly in silence so tense it could hold up a steel beam. _“If you are quite finished complaining, get the bags out of the back,”_ Anne sighed. Time for a smoke.

While her “maid”, really she was more of a personal assistant, did as she was told; Anne pushed the driver’s side door open and stepped a leather boot out onto her heritage at last. She stood, leaning back on the car door to close it, the outline of her black button-up and trousers only just visible in front of the same coloured paint, like a cat in a dark alley at night. The silver buckle of her belt glinted in the midday sunlight like the eyes of said cat, sharp and rather intimating. Anne pulled her cigarettes from her pocket, using the gold Zippo in her pocket to ignite one; the flame of a regular lighter was far too weak to be used in the afternoon Summer wind.

Anne dropped the lighter back into her pocket, inhaling deeply before using that same hand to pull the cigarette away, smoke billowing out instead. She wanted to get a closer look at her childhood home, stepping out of the carport to better see Shibden Hall, as it was affectionately named, by someone. Not her.

For as close as she’d been to her uncle, Anne had expected him to have left her a little more than the disappointment she was currently looking at. She knew the man had a street worth in the 7th figure by the time he’d kicked the bucket at last, and for what she’d done for him; Anne had been expecting one of his studio apartments in central London at the very least. One did not easily come across a niece willing to lay her down her life for the sake of such a business as her uncle’s. Thankfully, it had never come to that. Plenty of life had been laid down by her hand for the same reason, however.

There was hardly much point dwelling on that now, Anne thought as she continued to puff at her cigarette, ignoring the laboured grunts of her maid as she struggled with the luggage. She’d received this estate over five years ago; it was far too late to request a shuffling of the inheritance now. At the time of learning she was to be responsible for Shibden Hall, Anne was busy securing herself as her uncle’s far more reliable replacement, finally conversing with clients she’d previously been too low in rank to talk to directly. As upset as she was over his death, Anne wasn’t going to let anyone else take her uncle’s position as the new House of Shibden don. 

Even if it meant she was now responsible for cleaning up the mess her father had made of the place in her time away. Anne took a deep drag from her cigarette, turning at least an inch of it to ash before exhaling steam like an angry bull on a cold day. “Take the bags in through the back way, introduce yourself to the other servants,” Anne barked to her maid in her own native language. She’d coddled her with French for long enough.

“Put the bag with the things in my room, and don’t let any of the others touch it,” she added quickly, emphasis on the word ‘things.’ Eugénie nodded. 

With the maid gone and her cigarette almost burnt down, Anne was just about out of valid reasons to procrastinate. She forced herself to ascend the steps towards the entrance, tossing her cigarette butt into one of the empty pots outside the door, thinking fondly of her aunt to avoid thinking about all the reasons she’d rather be on a plane bound for Copenhagen right about now. Anne brought her keys up to let herself in, but acting on a prediction, she simply pushed the door instead. It opened with a guilty creak. Typical.

The interior appearance remaining the same as it was when she last saw it five years ago was also typical. Had no one in this house heard of home décor?

Despite all her grievances of the current situation, Anne couldn’t help but smile when she heard someone familiar from further in the house ask if it was her in the hallway. Lord, how she’d missed that ever-comforting voice. Hastings had been especially lonely after Vere’s decision; all those tear-soaked, sleepless nights could have better been spent in the company of the aunt she had loathed to leave behind. If she had been there to be the voice of reason Anne so often lacked, perhaps she wouldn’t have given up on Vere and her life in Hastings so quickly.

Perhaps she wouldn’t have spent over £200,000 on a brand-new car after throwing up in her old one in a drunken stupor, both in the same night.

Nevertheless, the monstrous purchase was parked proudly outside, and Anne lister was home, at last. She called out to announce it; following the sound of the excited exclamations that followed this confirmation until she arrived in the sitting room to greet one beaming face and two scowling ones. 

A full-toothed grin spread over Anne’s face as she caught sight of her beloved Aunt, reaching down to embrace her before she could raise herself from her armchair. “Hello again,” Anne greeted, squeezing tight but not to cause strain; she could tell how frail her aunt had become the moment she laid eyes on her.

“Oh, it's so good to see you again, Anne,” came the response. “You’re late, we wondered if there’d been an accident on one of those windy roads on the way up.”

Anne pulled away, her smile fading as she acknowledged the rest of her family members each in turn. While she held no contempt for neither her father nor sister, compared to the extravagant company she’d kept during her travels, they were hardly notable members of her social network. Anne did not much fancy the idea of cohabitation with Marian for longer than a few hours, let alone however many weeks she would be staying here. Regardless, she greeted her with a brief kiss on the cheek, to which Marian responded with a sarcastic “glad you decided to show up.”

“Yes, I am too,” Anne answered with equal malice in her voice as she returned to stand in the centre of the room, taking in the visual of her little family once again. There was much to discuss.

“Is lunch ready?"

*****

By the time the pleasantries were finally over, the Listers had been sat at the dining table for over half an hour yet the house staff continued to rush in and out of the kitchen to deliver full plates of steamed vegetables, bread, cheese, and meat. Not trusting her elderly family nor her sister to keep her estate or any of the activities that took place on it in check, Anne made sure a full kitchen, cleaning, and service staff remained on the land most days; she’d even had a sleeping quarter built for them when she’d first received Shibden Hall.  
However, many of them had since shifted responsibilities to maintain some of Anne’s more illegal affairs in her absence, leaving less time for things like mowing the laws or servicing the car, evidently. Still, when they weren’t curing marijuana in one of the sheds or making sure the police still didn’t possess a warrant; they were talented chefs. Having not eaten that day since before she’d started the long drive up from Hastings, Anne had practically inhaled at least half the mass of every plate presented to them the moment she sat down.

From above the cob of corn she was currently shredding through, Anne spotted Marian’s disapproving glare. “Must you eat like a pig?”

“Must you sound like one?” Anne retorted, winking at her aunt when it earned a quiet giggle from the older woman. Marian shot them both disapproving looks but rolled her eyes in silence.

“So” Anne began, placing her half-demolished cob down for a moment to wipe her hands. “Let’s talk about the state you lot have left this place in.”

“What about it?” Jeremy piped up. Anne looked sideways at her father, spying the guilt in his eyes as a horse senses fear. As the designated patriarch it was usually assumed to be his duty to keep Shibden Hall well maintained, but Anne didn’t need to ask to know that Marian had absorbed that responsibility due to their father’s old age. Regardless, that didn’t stop Jeremy from scowling defensively as Anne began her long list of complaints.

“When I arrived, I didn’t even bother unlocking the door because I knew none of you would have bothered to lock it in the first place. What on earth are you thinking? This is Halifax, for god’s sake,” Anne started, reaching for her wine goblet.

“No one bothers to come out this way anymore, you’d know if you’d been here,” said Marian. “We do lock it at night, mind you.”

Anne’s eyebrows furrowed just slightly. “Why is that?”

“Well, you don’t know what those hoodlums are getting up to when it's after dark-“

“Not that, Marian,” Anne said, tapping her glass in irritation. “Why does no one bother to come out this way?”

Aunt Anne jumped into the conversation to save her niece, but Anne spotted the pink blush on her sister’s face before she could look away. “The wealthier clients still do make the trip, we don’t deliver,” she started. “Most of our visitors are friends of the family these days, though.”

That was to be expected. Her uncle had never been one for house calls, believing his products good enough to warrant all customers, from the filthiest hood rat to the noblest baron, to make the journey down to inner Halifax themselves to collect their poison, whatever it was. What wasn’t expected, however, was that the common Halifax people had decided Shibden’s fine selection of pills and potions was suddenly not up to par. 

“Marian,” Anne said firmly, her sister wincing at the sound. “What has happened to our customers?”

“Your customers,” Marian snapped. “You can’t just take full ownership of the estate but then decide to share the responsibility when your little drug game comes up,”

“This is not a game,” Anne asserted, swallowing the remaining content of her goblet in one quick motion. “This is business, and I need to know what business has or hasn’t been done in my absence.”

Finally, Jeremy slammed his cutlery down on the table, both sisters’ heads whipping around to face him. “We shall not have this conversation at the table,” he growled, and even Anne knew not to push him. “None of us have taken over any of James’ duties, Anne. You’ll have to speak with Mr Washington.”

Ah yes, Washington. That man had weighed enough grams to kill a whole herd of elephants. Anne had hoped to get his advice on what exactly to do about the £300,000 worth of uncut cocaine currently sitting in a duffel bag on the floor of her bedroom. But perhaps she would endeavour to inquire about this mysterious customer decline, while she was at it. After all, Halifax loved their snow just as much as the rest of England.

Indeed, there was no time to waste. Anne reached into the pocket on her trousers and pulled out a sleek, black smartphone.

“Could you not use that at the table, if you don’t mind,” Marian sighed, receiving not even a glance in her direction for her troubles.

“I’m inviting Washington around for supper this evening, if you don’t mind,” said Anne, voice dripping with sarcasm. 

To her surprise, it was her Aunt’s objection that followed. “He mustn’t arrive before five, we’re expecting the Priestley’s over for a visit. They’re coming to see you, actually.”

“Is that right?” Anne asked absentmindedly, quickly editing her message to ensure Washington did indeed arrive after four, for her aunt’s sake. She didn’t much care for the Priestley’s company or comforts; the wife was a little too enthusiastic for her tastes. Anne preferred them, if they wanted to play her game, to pose a little challenge. It was more fun that way. 

At her age and marital status, Anne seriously doubted Mrs Priestley did want to play; yet there was still something unnerving about her dedication. There was something insincere, or perhaps an ulterior motive. Anne had learned to keep close watch of such people.

Aunt Anne frowned. “Try to be pleasant, when we told them we were expecting you home today they were both over the moon to see you again. Oh, and that lass they were with at the time looked well pleased too.”

Now at this, Anne slid her phone back into her coat, head snapping up on instinct to meet her aunt’s gaze. “Who’s this now?”

“Miss Walker,” Marian supplied, “We saw her for all of about ten minutes when we were last over to visit before she ran off upstairs, said she felt ill. Skittish little thing, isn’t she?”

“Marian, please,” Aunt Anne answered, while the elder of her two nieces watched the exchange unfold. “You know she is… unwell.”

“What’s the matter with her?” Anne asked suddenly, the second blip on her radar going off. Being excited to meet the remarkable Anne Lister, and being labelled as ‘unwell?’ All Anne needed now was the confirmation that she had still not married and she knew exactly what breed of woman she was dealing with.

“Her cousin mentioned something about trauma, but it’s hard to tell. Personally, I think she’s just sheltered. She’s got all that money, but you never see her out in the world spending it,” said Marian.

By now, Anne was practically on the edge of her seat, cartoonish dollar signs flashing in her eyes. If there was one thing she fancied more than an evening’s comfort tonight, it was a fine payment for her troubles at the end of it.

Aunt Anne signed, turning back to the older niece. “She’s lost her parents and her sister’s moved to Scotland, she’s under the care of distant relatives. She seems very lonely, poor thing.”

And there it was. “Is that right?” Anne remarked yet again with a sly grin, looking down at her empty goblet. Eager, alone, supposedly ill. Granted, given the circumstances the latter may well be true, but that was a chance Anne was willing to take. After the week she’d had, the state she’d been in this morning as she bid farewell to Vere; it was high time Anne found a new woman with which to make her evenings a little less dull. 

Just as the house staff arrived back to clear the table, the chirp of the doorbell rung through the household, eliciting a startled “Oh, that’ll be them!” from Aunt Anne.

“Well, well, well.”

*****

Ann hated the limousine.

It was such a hideous display of extravagant wealth, entirely unnecessary. Ann preferred to direct her riches towards her appearance, something she took pride in. How she got from point A to B was hardly her concern. How must those lower socio-economic residents feel, seeing an already expensive car stretched like a photoshop image, rolling through their poverty-stricken streets? Ann’s heart bled with guilt. 

If God was one day able to somehow convince of one of her relatives to aid her in getting a license, Ann would thank him every day before she travelled on her own accord. What little freedom she did have was severely limited by an inability to come and go as she saw fit.

It wasn’t her choice, hardly anything was these days. While she was grateful for the opportunity to meet the woman her cousin had harped on about all morning, her innocent suggestion to take an Uber into Halifax had been met with swift denial. Well, silence. In fact, she hadn’t even asked. What was the point? She loved Mrs Priestley dearly, but she was no different to the rest of her relatives: deaf to everything but their own voices. Or maybe they were just deaf to hers.

Ann shook her head vigorously, banishing the resentment as best she could before the limo turned the corner out of Crow Nest’s long driveway and onto the main road. Seeing this, the cousin sat on the plush seats across from her frowned. “Is everything alright, dear?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Ann answered quickly, lying only slightly. She was grateful to be travelling to Shibden Hall; any other reason would have caused her far more anxiety. Despite her distaste for their method of travel, Ann couldn’t stop a smile from tugging at her lip as she watched the buildings fly past in a blur. 

Mrs Priestley noticed this as well. “Excited, are you?” she asked, leaning forward to nudge Ann’s knee. “You should be. We’re in for a treat, all of us,”

Despite having listened to such praises all morning, Ann turned her head towards her cousin-in-law, eyes narrowed slightly into focused blue slits. There was still a while to go before they reached Halifax, and Ann feared she’d grow nauseous from unrest if she didn’t feed the curiosity butterflies in her stomach somehow. She didn’t even need to ask, Mrs Priestley’s mouth was like an automatic door: open and blabbering the very moment you seemed even remotely interested.

“Oh, she’ll tell us all about her travels, she must have been halfway around the globe by now,” Mrs Priestley started. “I do hope you like her, Ann.”

“I’m sure I will,” she answered with a smile. It was rare that Ann felt sure of herself these days, but she was positive about this: her words were true. Something about the way Mrs Priestley described her made Ann alert to the possibility of someone… different. 

Her kind of different.

Despite her prejudices, Mrs Priestley was woefully ignorant that such people existed, even in this day and age. Ann still remembered the event that had led her to this conclusion vividly; a few years ago in the sitting room of her mansion, watching a flamboyant talk-show host running his mouth about this and that, a frequent image on the television when Mrs Priestley came to visit.

“Isn’t he wonderful?” she had said back then, nudging an incredibly bored Ann next to her. “His wife must never have a boring moment with him.”

“Wife?” Ann had asked, half-asleep on the couch.

“Well, I’ve never seen pictures of her or news about them, but he’s over forty now, he surely must have one!”

Ann had smiled to herself, for once not feeling like the stupidest person in the room. “You’d be better off trying to find pictures of his husband, I think.”

The ensuing fight that took place after that statement had been one of the worst the pair had ever had, shaking Ann enough that she could not venture from her chambers for a week after, with James waiting on her hand and foot until she was well enough to see Mrs Priestley again. The worst thing was that Ann knew she was right, a quick search of the host’s name on her phone at the apex of the argument had confirmed it, much to Mrs Priestley dismay. Yet still, she shrieked about ‘decency’, feigning concern for the man’s honour by claiming that making such an assumption about him was offensive.

Ann knew all along that if that was really the source of Mrs Priestley’s worries, she wouldn’t take an assumption about one's sexuality as an offence. That was the reason Ann held back from asserting that it was obvious; being homosexual herself, she’d learnt to pick up on certain signals from others. That was the reason Ann hadn’t even considered telling a single soul since.

There was a silver lining to that argument, however: the realization of Mrs Priestley’s obliviousness to the diverse amount of people and orientations around her. Perhaps it was just blind hope, but Ann kept hold of it all throughout the journey, itching to finally meet this intriguing woman and confirm what she so desperately hoped to be true.


	2. Chapter 2

The very moment Joseph appeared back in the kitchen to inform the family that their guests had settled in the living room, Anne was on her feet; adjusting the collar of her black button-up and the Rolex shining on her wrist. Lonely women liked such class. Her fingers briefly clutched at the crucifix hanging over her chest by a silver chain, her jaw shifting in consideration for a moment before she tucked it beneath her shirt, out of sight. Even if Ann’s wealth was old money, and Anne thought it most certainly was, that didn’t guarantee her values were old too. 

Satisfied that she looked sufficiently charming, Anne trotted down the corridor into the living room to greet her guests, whom all rose accordingly for her, smiles plastered on every face. “Mrs Prestley-”

“Miss Lister, how delightful to see you again!” said the woman in question, beaming. Anne shook both her and her husband’s hands each in turn, feigning a joy to see them to match theirs to see her. All the while, she was aware of a small yet very apparent presence behind her, a gaze burning holes into the back of her skull with some feeling she wasn’t quite sure of. She could only hope it wasn’t the vicious jealousy some of these sheltered women often felt for her lavish, reckless lifestyle.

Finally, Anne turned around to see the stranger, at last, confirming to her relief that she held no immediately apparent malice towards her. “Miss Walker,” Anne said slowly, choosing her words very carefully. “I’ve heard so much about you lately.”

The obvious affection on her features aside, Anne took a moment to drink in the rest of the new arrival; everything from the meticulously curled blonde ringlets that framed her temples like a golden halo to a pair of eyes that contained both the ocean and the sky united in a loving embrace. A pair of smiling pink lips parted ever so slightly when Anne took the lady’s dainty hand in her own, so petite she only held her with about half the strength she normally used in a handshake. “How are you?”

Anne watched, mesmerised, as Ann dipped her head low and muttered a quiet “I’m well, thank you,” her restlessness even more evident in her accented stammer. This would be even easier than she’d anticipated.

Not that she could complain. Very rarely did Anne meet a woman so enticing she was willing to forego the challenge of winning her over. Sometimes they were a little too eager, and she quickly grew bored with their affections. Anne was always the pursuer; if the woman in question was doing her job for her, what was left for her to do? But this one was different. Ann could lead her away by the hand right this very moment and Anne would have no objection. She tried not to let this rather obscene thought show in her voice as she replied, “Good, good.”

Anne held onto Ann’s hand as they sat on the couch behind them, pulling the woman down with her as she did so. Ann did not protest. Nor did she immediately release Anne’s hand once they were seated, lingering for a few seconds before finally letting go. Excellent.

Presently, Aunt Anne and Marian arrived; another round of polite exchanges soon following until everyone was once again seated somewhere in the now crowded room. To Anne’s delight, Ann once again chose to sit right next to her, only the thin layers of her trousers and the skirt of Ann’s dress between their adjacent thighs. 

Speaking of which. “I adore this dress you’re wearing, Miss Walker,” Anne said, genuinely. It really was magnificent; a light pink piece with tiny black and white dots arranged in a vertically wavy pattern all over, complete with overly long sleeves that tumbled over the girl’s hands as she held them in her lap. “Prada?”

Anne grinned as her admirer looked down to hide her nervous smile. “Yes, it is.”

“I thought so,” said Anne, grinning a full-toothed smile when Ann, seemingly with great effort, lifted her head to meet the older woman’s intense stare. For one breathless moment, Anne felt the entire room crumble away, the idle chatter of the room’s other occupants muting to silence as she fell into those deep pools of pale blue. Her fingers twitched with an urge to trace along that defined yet soft jawline, and Anne found herself growing restless at the thought of how Ann would react; an innocent one like this would practically melt at her touch, she was sure of it.

But then the moment was over, and Anne was suddenly yanked back to reality by the sound of Mrs Priestley’s shrill voice, shattering Anne’s daydream like a brick through a window. “So, Miss Lister, what brings you back to Halifax?”

Anne was not especially pleased to be having this conversation, yet for the sake of the awestruck girl sitting next to her, she put on her best entertainment face. “Well, it certainly isn’t the expensive liquor and constant roadworks,” Anne said sarcastically, earning a hearty laugh from most of the room besides Marian, who rolled her eyes.

“No, I’m here on business, actually,” Anne lied, putting a cigarette between her lips. From the corner of her eye, she watched Ann’s eyes widen and throat bob as she gulped in surprise at the action. Oh, this girl had much to learn. Anne lit the cigarette quickly, putting the Zippo away and puffing once before extending the box out towards Ann. “Would you like one, Miss Walker?”

Ann seemed to stop breathing for a moment from the sheer shock, before quickly shaking her head. “No, but thank you,” she struggled to say, eyes flicking back and forth between Anne’s intrigued face and the lit cigarette dangling between two bony fingers. Anne noted her refusal; something that was normally disappointing, but on her was only more enticing. Perhaps she would provide a little chase after all.

After offering the box to the rest of the room, Anne put her cigarettes away and laid her arm on the top of the couch behind Ann, an action that made the woman visibly tense; but judging by the half-smile that appeared on her lips, not in a bad way. She turned to face Anne, blushing like a schoolgirl exchanging secret notes with a crush in the classroom. 

Anne pretended not to notice the hearts Ann’s pupils appeared to have morphed into and instead turned her attention to her other guests. “Yes, I found out that much of Hastings drug demand has already been covered by some rather unsavoury types that I’d rather not get involved with,” Anne explained, not entirely untrue. She had struggled to sell while visiting Vere, but it was hardly the real reason she was back. “I decided I’d return to Halifax to let go of some excess stock and make sure the house was still in good shape.”

“We’re always so impressed with how magnificent the place looks when we come to visit, aren’t we William,” said Eliza, nudging her husband seated next to her.

“Really?’ Anne asked, leaning forward to tap the top of her cigarette once over the ashtray on the coffee table, grey snow falling from it before she settled back in her seat. “I’m beginning to doubt even the merest decency of this place, never mind its ‘magnificence.’”

“What d’you mean?” Marian piped up from the corner of the room, face twisted in a scowl.

Anne raised her eyebrows at Ann as if to say ‘can you believe her?’, heart practically bursting in her chest when the woman had to cover her mouth with her hand to keep from giggling out loud. “I mean, Marian, that this place has become just as run down as some of these other houses out there,” Anne proclaimed, emphasizing her words with a dramatic swing of her hand, leaving a trail of hot cigarette smoke in her wake. “There’s graffiti, there’s weeds, there’s-“

“You’re always saying it’s your estate,” Marian reminded everyone so kindly. “It’s your responsibility.”

“I know that, Marian,” Anne said matter-of-factly, flashing Marian an exaggerated fake smile that quickly became a real one as she heard Ann yet again struggle to stifle her laughter, music to her ears. “I have every intention of taking the matter into my own hands. I will personally see to it that everything that is in need of improvement shall be done to a satisfactory standard.”

“And what exactly is it that needs improvement?” Aunt Anne asked, rather nervous.

Anne took a long drag of her cigarette, eyes narrowed in concentration as she pulled the smoke into her lungs, exhaling out the side of her mouth to avoid causing discomfort to Ann. “Well…”

*****

As to be expected, Marian had not appreciated the long list of Anne’s planned renovations and upgrades to Shibden, including an extravagant library tower, the construction of which was bound to be a noisy and disruptive affair. Despite the minor squabble that had broken out between the sisters, the small group was able to chatter well into the afternoon; one did not easily grow tired of chronicles of Anne Lister, after all.

Well, everyone except Marian, who had excused herself to the washroom after barely half an hour and mysteriously never returned.

With her gone, Anne had been able to weave all kinds of short and tall tales; Ann seemingly gravitating closer towards her with each energetic sentence that spilled from Anne’s mouth. By the time Mrs Priestley had gasped at the time her watch displayed, Ann was nestled comfortably into Anne’s side, her shoulder resting just beneath Anne’s armpit. It took great strength to leave her arm remaining on the back of the couch as opposed to draped across Ann’s shoulders, yet somehow, Anne could sense that the company Ann had arrived with would not take kindly to such a forward display. Even at their current level of intimacy, Anne could see Mr Priestley was agitated, twiddling his thumbs and rubbing his no doubt sweaty palms on his trousers. Mrs Priestley, thankfully, seemed too caught up in Anne’s web of stories to notice.

“My word, look at the time, we’ve well overstayed our welcome,” Mrs Priestley finally, nodding to her husband to stand, which they both did. 

Anne felt, rather than saw Ann slump down in disappointment. “Must we leave already?” she asked so quietly Anne was certain she must have been talking to herself.

To her surprise, Mrs Priestley did indeed catch it. “Yes, Ann, it’s nearly four o’clock. I’m sure Miss Lister has other business to attend to,”

“Not at all, it’s been lovely catching up,” Anne lied. Well, only partially. If it meant spending even a few more minutes with Miss Walker, Anne was happy to tolerate the Priestley’s boring conversation for as long as they wanted. While her original plan to bed the lady had not gone as planned due to excess company preventing such talk from occurring, Anne found herself surprisingly satisfied with that. The feeling of being looked at with curiosity rather than lust was one Anne could get used to.

Unfortunately, Anne could tell by the sad smile Mrs Priestley showed her that she’d already made up her mind. “Really, we ought to be heading back, it’ll be late by the time William and I arrive home and we’ve still got to drop Miss Walker back to Crow Nest.”

Anne did not waste a single moment, seizing the opportunity as fast as lightning. “I can drive her home,” she announced, grinning when Ann’s face lit up brighter than London at night.

“Would you really?” she asked. “I’d hate to be a bother.”

“It would be no trouble at all,” Anne assured her, hoping no one would notice how close their faces were by now. “Besides, this way you get to stay for a little bit longer, and you two,” Anne willed herself to turn back to the Priestley’s, “don’t have to take the detour on your way home.”

Mrs Priestley seemed apprehensive, but her husband had clearly had enough of the excess estrogen in the room, practically shoving Mrs Priestley out towards the corridor despite her meek protests. Anne loathed to feel the absence of Ann’s petite body on hers as she rose to say goodbye, but knew it was the proper thing to do, bidding each of the Priestley’s farewell with a firm handshake and promise to visit soon.

“You’re positive you don’t want to come with us?” Mrs Priestley tried one final time as she settled in the back of the limo, the chauffer’s hand resting impatiently on the door handle outside. 

Anne watched the woman next to her intently as she nodded, assuring her cousin that she would make it home safely and before dark. How difficult it seemed for her, making a decision by herself; Anne felt a wave of pride at her ability to empower women like Ann to do such things. Yet it merely washed over her for a second, she was feeling dramatically less egotistical than usual in the presence of Miss Walker. The sound of her own voice was grating on her; she longed to hear that adorable accent speak with the same vigour that her own did.

Finally, the chauffer pushed the door shut and shuffled obediently into the driver’s seat, speeding off with such velocity Anne knew the rocky driveway he was about to approach would cause a fuss if he didn’t slow down. “Must be needing the loo,” Anne joked, earning a shy smile.

“Thank you,” Ann said suddenly, looking up at Anne with such innocence she almost felt guilty for all the things she was planning for the two of them. Almost. “For saving me from that.”

“From what?” Anne asked quickly, desperate to at last have a real conversation with her. “The driver? Is he normally that reckless?”

“No, it’s not that,” Ann replied, crossing her arms over her chest when a late afternoon breeze rolled past, carrying the whispers of the nearby trees as they swayed in the wind. Anne turned back towards the house, bracing her hand on the small of Ann’s back to direct her in the same direction. “I just hate riding in it, through Halifax, I mean.”

Anne normally found such ill-thought-out manners of speech incredibly irritating, but yet again; Miss Walker was subverting every expectation Anne had of herself. Such was the power of fortune, she told herself quickly. Fortune and status. Certainly not the adorable way she played with her fingers when she wasn’t quite sure what to do with her hands or those electric eyes Anne could have spent all afternoon getting lost in if she’d been allowed.

“I don’t think anyone likes riding through Halifax,” Anne replied, stepping forward onto the stairs leading up to the door before her guest to help her up, extending a hand out with a warm smile. Ann seemed to hesitate for a moment before taking it, allowing Anne to guide her up the few steps until they reached the doorway at last, Ann’s face flushed so red it was as though she’d just ascended a mountain.

Anne knew it was not fatigue that had the poor woman so flustered, but rather the way she kept hold of her hand even after they’d gotten up the stairs, ghosting her thumb over the delicate knuckles of Ann’s fingers before reluctantly letting go, her fingers practically aching in the absence of her touch. 

At Anne’s gesture, Ann stepped forward into the house first, with Anne shutting the door behind them both once they were safely out of the cold. It was summer, yet they were still in England; there was hardly much reason to be as underdressed outside as Ann was once the sun went down. “I suppose, but I still hate to show up in something as… unnecessary as that.” 

Anne led them back to the sitting room, frowning as they both took their places on the couch once again; some distance between them this time. If they were going to talk, Anne at least wanted to see whom she was speaking to, as much as she craved to feel that weight on her again. She’d have to be patient.

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked, tilting her head. “Are you afraid we Halifax rascals will rob you blind?”

Ann’s jaw dropped suddenly, her chest rising as she took in a sharp breath. “No, of course not, I didn’t mean it that way,” she stammered, suddenly desperate to look anywhere but at Anne. 

Precious thing. She’d clearly never once interacted with someone of a class lesser than her own, she hadn’t a clue what to say. Anne reached forward to grab a fidgeting hand, offering a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay. The commoners can’t hear you in here.”

At that, Ann flushed a shade so bright Anne feared the poor woman would catch fire if she didn’t out her out of her misery. “I only jest,” she cooed, laughing to herself at Ann’s obvious frustration. 

“Really, it's not that, I do my best not to judge,” Ann struggled to say through her own embarrassment. “I meant I don’t like to flaunt my wealth to the less fortunate if I can avoid it. Why does there have to be such a sharp distinction between the haves and have nots?”

Now here was something interesting. Despite their differing philosophies, Anne couldn’t help but find the woman’s egalitarian approach admirable. It was rare to find someone of her pedigree that didn’t have their head stuck in the clouds, these days. As someone who knew what it was to 'have-not' before her uncle struck it rich, Anne appreciated her compassion. Even if it was a little naïve. 

Then again. “I find it intriguing that you say this, Miss Walker,” she stated with a smirk, “while wearing a dress that surely cost you over a thousand pounds.”

Ann looked away in shame yet again, but Anne spotted the smile she was biting her lip to hold back. “That’s different,” she managed after a while.  
“is it now?” Anne asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Ann answered. Anne could have melted at the sound of the woman finally relaxing, the casual language indicating a peace of mind she didn’t have in the presence of her cousins. Anne made a note to enquire about that later. “It is.”

“Pray, tell me how.”

Ann opened her mouth to retort, but quickly sighed and shut it again, looking down shamefully at the expensive dress in question.

“See,” Anne mocked, squeezing her hand yet again to remind her it was all in good fun, “You want to be one of the good rich people, but the truth is that there are no good rich people.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t at least try to be better,” Ann said rather quietly, and Anne grew worried she’d frightened the girl out of speaking truthfully. Anne’s gaze settled on Ann’s chin, downcast and unwilling to move to allow for further speech. Now that simply wouldn’t do. Anne’s fingers found their way to that chin, tilting it upwards with the gentlest touch she could manage until she locked eyes with Ann’s blue pools, overflowing with tears ready to spill.

“I think it's very noble, your refusal to show off where you can. Even if you still flaunt your wealth in your appearance, you are right to say we don’t have to create these ridged class divides,” Anne said wholeheartedly. Before things could get too intense, Anne pulled her had back away, Ann’s head thankfully remaining upright. She smiled, sniffing once to clear her nose of the liquid sadness that so often floods there when one gets emotional. Anne hoped she didn’t seem insincere. As easy at it was to patronize someone like Ann, it was clear by her heartbreakingly meek behaviour that she had more than enough people to do that for her already.

Before any more waterworks could occur, Anne utilized the moment of silence to lighten the mood. “I have to admit though, if it's riding through poorer districts in expensive cars that’s got you so riled up, you won’t like what I’ll be taking you home in soon.”

Ann’s forehead creased in confusion, but her smile indicated an eager curiosity. “Why’s that?”

Anne quickly flicked her wrist back to check the time: 5:30. As much as she wanted to continue picking Ann’s brain, Washington would be here in less than an hour, and Crow Nest wasn’t exactly walking distance. 

“Come on, gather your things,” she said, standing and retrieving the keys to the Bentley from her trouser pocket, flashing Ann a smirk as she twirled them around her finger. “I’ll show you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case y'all couldn't tell I'm much better at writing from Anne's POV and most of the story will be from hers but I thought this particular scene would be better told through Ann's eyes. 
> 
> Side note: Thank you so much to everyone who left kudos and comments, I wasn't expecting to get much support so to have such a positive reaction has really inspired me to keep going with this! To the person who commented about Ann and Anne having different stances on socio-economic politics, I'm really glad you noticed it because it will definitely play a role in their relationship here. In the actual Anne Lister's diary, she seemed to be very politically opinionated, and she and Ann frequently fought about money. I thought this would be interesting to explore more so yeah!

Farewells to the Lister family said and done, Ann followed Miss Lister out the front door once again, blushing significantly less this time when Anne held her hand out to guide her down the steps. Despite being of the fairer sex, Anne’s grip was sturdier than a skyscraper; Ann felt sure if she were to fall that she’d be safe in those arms in an instant.

Ann wondered what said arms must look like underneath that dark mass of clothing Anne chose to cover herself with, even in the Summer heat. Her grip indicated at least some muscle, thought Ann as she followed the woman in question around to the carport, straining her eyes to see some definition under that shirt. Unfortunately, it was already too dark; the sky had flushed pink as her lover, the sun, descended her expansive body.

Not that it really mattered what was under that shirt, Ann told herself suddenly, finding herself turning a similar shade. But how could she help it? Mrs Priestley had conveniently forgotten to mention how strikingly handsome the remarkable Miss Lister was, making for a surprise that had lasted all afternoon. Even now, as Anne whipped around to face her, Ann’s throat caught in her breath at the sight of those blindingly white teeth, sharp yet softened by the warmth in those soulful eyes.

“Well, what do you think?” Anne asked proudly, followed by a muffled clicking noise as she tapped a button on the keys.

What did she think? Ann had to resist the urge to tell her she thought she was the most interesting person she’d ever met. What a welcome break she was from that miserable house, her only guests seemingly talking for endless hours about royalty and nobles, topics she grew bored at the mere mention of. “Dear Lord, it's...” was all she could manage as she forcefully pulled her gaze away from Anne, settling on the jet-black vehicle she was gesturing to expectantly.

“She’s a beauty, is she not?” Anne exclaimed, and Ann couldn’t help but smile at how young she seemed at this moment, gushing over her car like a child over a new toy. “I was a tad anxious, though. It’s no limo but it’s still, what did you call it, unnecessary.”

“No, no, it’s wonderful,” Ann assured her, lying only partially. It was a step down from the limousine, but it certainly wasn’t even in the same league as the average car around here. Despite its off-putting price tag, Ann couldn’t deny its charm. It was obviously new, not a single scratch on its sleek, glossy finish. Just like its owner, it was all angles and class; the perfect ride for gentlewoman like Anne.

Ann watched as Anne moved to the passenger side door to hold it open, signalling for her to enter. She did with a smile, eyes widening in awe at the car’s even more luxurious interior. The leather seats were plusher than the finest sofa in her home, streaks of shiny metal outlining the control panel, buttons, and beneath the window. It was a two-door, with the laughable space in the back seats existing mostly as a place to stuff bags that wouldn’t fit in the rear or the front, leaving ample leg space for Ann to stretch out over the soft floor rug. “Try not to get any grime anywhere, I only bought it yesterday,” said Anne, winking before she shut Ann inside and moved to enter herself.

She spoke about the act of purchasing the car much less enthusiastically than she spoke about the vehicle herself, Ann noted in the few moments she was alone in the car before Anne pulled the door on her own side open, swinging herself into the seat with a sigh. Either she had been reluctant to spend such a gargantuan amount of money, or she did it so frequently that it wasn’t a topic of interest to her anymore. Ann concluded from the solid silver Rolex that glistened on her wrist and the Armani button up to match; it was probably the latter.

Well, at least she had a sense of style, Ann thought to herself as she watched Anne fiddle with the keys momentarily, before pushing them into the ignition with a satisfying click. Suddenly, Ann felt a shiver course through her body as the magnificent work of engineering below her purred like a sleeping panther, nothing like the harsh growl of the overweight limousine as it struggled to become animated. The Bentley’s ignition was smooth, its vibration soft enough to make Ann sigh in comfort. 

“Is it better than the limo?” Anne asked, putting the car in drive in one quick, practised motion. She slid her phone into the car’s designated dashboard phone stand and quickly tapped the address into the GPS, muttering something about ‘oh, there’ once the directions were displayed. Ann had only been in a handful of passenger seats in her lifetime, usually with a driver that she was obliged to avoid looking at. Anne’s movement, however, fascinated her to no end. Miss Lister was a science of women and luxury, and Ann wanted a master’s degree in it.

“It’s wonderful,” Ann breathed again, too busy keeping herself from glowing red again to form a complete sentence. She watched in awe as Anne gripped the wheel from the underside of the top, turning it all the way around as they made the corner of the driveway so that her palm was flat on the wheel’s handle by the time it was upside down. Her eyes widened yet again when the wheel moved automatically back to the neutral position at the end of the turn, Anne’s hand merely resting on it to guide it into place. All this with only one hand. Ann wondered what else she used those dextrous hands for.

“Have you never seen anyone drive before?” a curious voice asked suddenly, and Ann blinked like someone had flashed a beacon in her face. She looked up at the face of the voice, a smirk and cocked eyebrow greeting her jaw-dropped gasp.

“Oh, I-I have, just not very often, and not like you,” Ann stammered, forcing herself to look out of the windshield instead of at Anne’s devilish grin. They were in the suburb now; Ann could hardly believe Shibden Hall existed amongst such pathetic excuses for houses. It was as though someone had gathered all the junk in the backyard and been instructed to construct the bare minimum for an accommodation unit, not a single thought spared for safety or aesthetic. She found their very existence to be despicably inhumane.

“Like me?” Anne asked again, seemingly sensing Ann’s growing restlessness at the sight of the cheap huts that the government had the audacity to call homes. “How do you mean?”

“With one hand,” Ann explained, quietly as though it was illegal. 

Anne grinned, rubbing the fingers of her spare hand together for emphasis. “It’s hardly uncommon,” she began, manoeuvring the wheel upside down yet again to turn another corner. “You can’t smoke if both your hands are busy holding the wheel, you see.”

“Of course,” Ann replied with a smile. Having recovered from the initial shock at Anne’s dirty little habit’s reveal, Ann felt much more comfortable discussing such things despite her reluctance to do it herself. She had been curious for a long time; she was twenty-nine yet still inexperienced to such sins, but she couldn’t bring herself to try something she’d been told all her life was a death trap. Not yet at least.

“I suppose I was just surprised, is all. All the drivers I’ve ever seen are all the same. They all wear the same cheap tuxedo, drive with both hands on the wheel, and are useless for any sort of conversation,” said Ann, somehow finding the confidence to ramble for more than a second to her new friend. They were on the main road now, Anne was no longer stealing cheeky glances over at Ann; instead focusing with a sharp glare at the road ahead. Somehow, Ann found that expression to be even more attractive than when she was being looked at directly.

Anne’s attention directed elsewhere also allowed Ann to speak a little more freely; she found herself to be a verbal prisoner when Anne was looking at her, those huge eyes staring so deep into her soul it was like every second was a Broadway performance. It didn’t bother her all that much, Anne was so much more interesting than herself, after all. Still, Ann did have a lot of opinions about her cousin’s preferred methods of travel. “I don’t even like being in the limo that much. It’s barely even more comfortable than this!” she continued, lifting her arms up dramatically to refer to the interior of the Bentley.

“Hm, I can’t say I agree with that,” said Anne, but with no hostility. The gentle vibrations of the car stilled as they approached a traffic light queue, slowing down with such precision that neither woman had to lean forward even an inch when it finally did stop. Once stationary, Ann watched her chauffer let go of the wheel entirely and turn her upper body to face her, a challenging smile on that ever-quizzical face. “I much prefer drinking champagne in the back of a limousine to actually driving, personally.”

“Well, of course, you’d say that. You probably drive all the time,” said Ann, hopeful that her words were true. She was already anxious to watch Anne command her vehicle again, and they still hadn’t even reached Crow Nest.

Anne tilted her head up slightly and raised both eyebrows, a look Ann would have seen as condescension on anyone else, but on Anne’s comforting features read more like admiration. The Honda in front of them took off slowly, Anne didn't even need to look at it before her hand was on the wheel once more, foot on the pedal as they took off. “That is true, but I do enjoy driving, it is not a burden to me. I simply prefer the comforts some vehicles have to offer when driving as a passenger. I would not say the same thing about riding in the back of, say, one of those.”

Anne nodded to the car in front of them, that same sad little Honda that had moved off at the green light like a snail who had spotted a particularly damp leaf. This was perhaps the only time Ann would laugh at a mockery of class difference, as the thing really was pathetic; the custom licence plate read as “A55 L0RD”, and at least three discoloured Manchester United stickers were displayed proudly on the back bumper.

“Can you imagine desecrating your car with stickers like that,” Ann started, giddy with delight when Anne nodded in agreement. “And Man United, nonetheless.”

“You take that back,” a stern yet still playful voice scolded her, one finger jabbed in Ann’s direction. “You’ll not disrespect the Reds in my car.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a United fan…” Ann sighed, happy to have found another shared interest yet somewhat anxious that Anne could prove to be like some of her rowdier family members; she had her affection for the sport, yet the way men crowded around the television and roared like baboons in a forest was nothing short of barbaric. 

“Why wouldn’t I support the greatest football club in the entire league?” Anne asked like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“My lord, you sound like my cousins,” Ann couldn’t help but laugh, fighting back a sudden urge to nudge Anne like they were old friends. Better not to get too comfortable, she thought. With any luck, Anne might want to see her again if she didn’t completely ruin everything.

When they finally approached Crow Nest’s long driveway, it was bittersweet; Ann had thankfully yet to shut down or act overly anxious, two common symptoms of a social gathering turned sour by her. She couldn’t help it, sometimes the company she was often forced into grated on her like a heat rash; she’d be forced to make an escape somehow. But with Anne, she had no fears of the sort. That was the bitterness, she was so comfortable that she knew with Anne’s imminent departure, she was sure to take her smile away with her.

Before she could complain, however, Anne brought the car to a standstill barely a few inches past the driveway’s entrance, going as far as to put it in park even. “What’re you doing?” 

Anne fell back onto the seat behind her with a sigh, turning to Ann with that same inquisitive look she'd had when she’d offered her that cigarette back at Shibden. “Would you like to drive? To the end of the driveway, just here.”

Just like that fateful offering of the cigarette, Ann was yet again speechless. Was there no end to this woman’s surprises? Ann certainly hoped not. “I-I don’t know how,” she stammered, looking down at her fingers as she twiddled them anxiously.

“Well, I could teach you,” Anne offered, leaning her long body over the glovebox to be closer to her passenger. “If you really want to be free of those tedious limousines you detest so much, I can help you,” she added. Ann could see from this new distance the sincerity in Anne’s eyes, a genuine concern she hadn’t seen anyone display to her for a very long time. At least not from anyone else. Anne, however, seemed only caring; for once, she was free to enjoy someone’s company without clutching her purse to keep greedy hands out of it.

That was why, despite her nerves, Ann nodded vigorously. If there was anyone in her dwindling collection of barely tolerable acquittances who could fulfil this wish of hers; it was Anne. She had appealed many times to the few members of her family who could drive for their assistance, to no avail. Ann couldn’t exactly blame them. Being stuck in a car with a near-stranger for up to months while learning didn’t sound like the most pleasurable experience. She’d probably feel ill and give in before they’d even started up the engine. 

“Excellent,” Anne cheered, her eyes narrowing from the sheer volume of the grin that lit up her face. Ann breathed a sigh of relief at her enthusiasm, a reminder that she wouldn’t need to sit through any awkward silences with some intolerable family member in order to get this license; if all went to plan, at least. It was no guarantee, but something told Ann she would have much more success with Miss Lister than anyone else, and not just because the woman drove like a professional get-away driver.

“Well, come on then!” Anne urged, unbuckling herself and pushing the door open.

“Oh, you aren’t going to teach me what to do first?” Ann asked, following suit hastily. They both exited the vehicle, flashing each other excitable smiles as they passed each other in front of the car until they were both settled back in opposite seats.

“I find its better to learn hands-on,” Anne explained, pulling the passenger door shut. “You’ll learn about the technicalities later.”

Ann settled into the driver’s seat and buckled her seatbelt, a surge of power seeping into her body from the floor up. That was until she realized said power wasn’t enough to make her legs long enough to reach the pedals. “Oh, um, I’m too short…”

“Ah,” said Anne, biting back a smile with those shining canines in such a way that Ann’s cheeks burned as her gaze settled on it. “Let me help you.”

And then Miss Lister leaned forward so close that Ann could smell her cologne; a spicy aroma clouded in cigarette smoke, so strong Ann’s throat was parched dry just from breathing in her musk. Their eyes met, contact never breaking as Anne’s hand slid down the front of the driver’s seat, between Anne’s slightly parted knees. The silver of Anne’s watch sent shivers all through Ann’s legs when her wrist collided with the soft skin of her knees, yet still, she was silent. Ann sat like a deer caught in headlights, or rather, the fearsome gaze of the huntress eyeing her up. Surely this was overstepping the mark, what remained of it that was. Should she say something? Did she want to?

Her fingers must have found what she was looking for, as the next thing Ann heard was her own gasp as she was yanked forward by the seat, and the click of the adjustment lever as it settled back into place. “There,” Anne said, withdrawing her hand. Ann shuddered as her fingers grazed over the sensitive skin above her knee as she pulled away, so tantalizingly close to her thighs. Only for a moment though. And then the second her touch departed; Ann longed for it once more. “That’s better.”

Ann swallowed, wondering if she was even fit to drive in her current state. She steeled herself; she might have struggled with simple tasks in the past but this was only a driveway, and Anne seemed to have such good faith in her, she’d hate to disappoint. “Okay,” she stated, more to herself than Anne. “Now what do I do?”

“Put your right foot on the brake,” Anne instructed. Ann pretended like she didn’t see Anne staring at her legs as she obeyed the command. 

“The brake is the big one, yeah?” Ann asked quietly. What a ridiculous question! What must she think, this woman of nine and twenty, without a clue of which pedal is which?  
To Ann’s relief and surprise, Anne only made an amused huff. “The larger one, yes.”

“Right, yes.”

Ann braced her Mary-jane clad shoe on the brake, looking questioningly at Anne for her next instruction. “Push it down, all the way,” came the response, and Ann obliged.

“So, because it's in park right now once you take it out of park, you control the movement with the break and the gas pedal. So, let's take it out of park, but keep your foot on that brake until I say so.”

Ann was reminded suddenly of James, her butler, and his all too common words: ‘yes ma’am,’ which she was currently working great efforts to avoid blurting out. 

“Now, to put it in drive,” Anne explained, holding a hand out expectantly. Ann frowned at it for a moment, confused as to what exactly she was asking for. When she didn’t react, Anne only smiled and reached out to take Ann’s hand in her own, guiding it down onto the gear selector stick. Anne quickly checked to make sure Ann was paying attention, which she most certainly was, before looking back down to explain herself.

“The car is an automatic so I won’t bore you with all the little details about the different gears,” Anne began, only about half of the words spoke actually registering with Ann. As much as she liked to hear Anne talk, she was rather anxious to get moving. “But this is otherwise how you change gears. You can put the car in park, when parking of course, like it’s in right now.”

“Or you can put it in reverse,” said Anne, positioning Ann’s thumb over the button on the side of the gear knob and pushing it down until it would press no further. Then, Ann felt both her hand and the gear level moving as Anne pulled them both, her bony hand both heavy and incredibly secure while clasped over hers. “And now, if you took your foot off the brake and the handbrake was off, we’d go backwards.”

Anne jerked her head towards the rear of the car as she spoke, like she wasn’t quite sure Ann would believe her if she didn’t. It was such a decidedly benign action, yet it still made Ann laugh, but not so much as to seem like she wasn’t paying attention. The last thing she wanted was to frustrate Anne into giving up on her.

Thumb pushed yet again into the knob button; Ann felt her hand being pulled back one more notch by that talon grip. “Or, there’s drive. Those are the only three you need to worry about for now. Remember to push that button down when you change gears, or else,” Anne demonstrated by attempting to move the stick back into reverse without the necessary given instruction, only to be met with discomforting rattling and a stationary lever. “It won’t work.”

“Okay, I think I’ve got it,” said Ann, a tad impatient by now. Anne only laughed quietly to herself at such giddiness, the action dusting Ann’s cheeks a healthy shade of pink. “What? What else is there?”

“One more thing,” Anne stated, extending her hand out to Ann yet again. This time, the woman didn’t hesitate to slip her hand into Anne’s grip, the older woman’s fingers curling around Ann’s like a protective shell, with the hand brake lever as the guts they were shielding. 

Ann felt her thumb being nudged onto yet another button, pushing it down before Anne even had a chance to exert any pressure. The woman smiled in approval. Ann’s legs were suddenly gelatinous. “Now push the whole thing down.” Ann did as she was told. “Both hands on the wheel.”

There was a subtle change in the car’s gentle rumble once two of its three brake locks had been broken, like a stallion only held back by a single rope. That familiar, addictive feeling of control swirled around Ann’s head once more as she bit her lower lip at Anne, pupils the size of Jupiter.

She noticed Anne seemed to fixate on teeth for a moment, or perhaps the pink skin bit underneath them, but she quickly flicked her eyes back up to meet Ann’s gaze. Ann wondered what it took to make her lose her seemingly endless composure. 

“Now. Let the pedal go, but keep your foot braced on it, and we’ll move forward.”

Ann’s bubbling excitement settled for a moment, and she looked at Anne with a nervous crease in her forehead. She hadn't been certain it would get this far. “Are you sure? This is your car, and I haven’t the slightest clue what I’m doing, and I’m usually not very good at things like this-“

Suddenly, Ann’s words caught in her throat as a steady hand cupped her cheek, perfectly reflective of the calm smile Anne wore on her face; that face that made Ann feel more safe than she’d ever felt in her life. “You can do this, Ann,” she practically whispered, an inexplicable heat rushing to Ann’s face at the sound of her Christian name on that sharp tongue. “It will move slowly at first, and if it’s too much, you can push the brake back down and we’ll stop.”

Any further desire to protest was quickly smothered by the soothing thumb Ann felt stroking her cheekbone; she could have whined when both it and the hand it belonged to were pulled away. Ann imagined her cousin’s face if she could see the two of them now; such frequent and affectionate touching, like old friends or lovers and not the near-strangers that they were; she could already hear the woman’s squawking in her head right this moment.

If she got this right, Ann thought to herself, if she really put her mind to this; she might be free of hearing such complaints constantly. She was fond of Mrs Priestley, of course, but it was unfair how quickly she grew bored with her company when she came over to visit so often. Being limited to her home most of the time, Mrs Priestley probably saw it as a service to make the trip to visit her cousin. That licence was Ann’s ticket to freedom and better company.

She looked over at Anne, smiling patiently as she waited for the car to take off. Much better company.

Ann pulled her foot back on her heel, so she was still in contact with the pedal; gasping when as promised; the Bentley moved forward. “See, its easy,” said Anne proudly, looking through the glass to ensure they didn’t collide with any of the several statues that lined the driveway like pictures down a hallway’s walls. 

Perhaps not easy, but it was certainly exhilarating. Ann gripped the wheel like she’d die if she let go, examining her own driveway through the windshield with wide eyes as though seeing it for the first time. She didn’t dare steer anywhere; it was a simple, straight path to her mansion, although it was a little far.

Anne seemed to have noticed this too, turning to face Ann with that mischievous smirk on yet again. “Father Christmas will arrive before us at this pace,” she joked. “Surely you want to go a little faster.”

“How much faster?”

“Just a touch,” said Anne, her eyes narrowing in that way they did when she was speaking as though it was a secret. “Just press the gas a tiny bit, then put your foot back on the brake, ready to stop if you need to.”

Slowly, Ann repositioned her foot on the accelerator, swallowing once before pushing down. What she failed to account for was how much smaller and lighter the gas pedal was than the brake; she pressed it with a force that made both her and Anne fall back into their seats as the Bentley shot forward. “Hit the brake, hit the brake,” Anne said quickly but calmly. Ann didn’t need to be told; the brake pedal was pressed to the floor in moments. Both women had to stop themselves from shooting forward with the momentum.

“I’m sorry, I didn't-” Ann stammered frantically. But once again, the stream of apologies and self-deprecation she had prepared were blocked from her lips when she heard the laughter of her passenger, the loud slap of her hand on her knee. 

“Do you know I did the exact same thing when I first learned to drive?” she said between laughs, making Ann smile with relief. “My uncle said I pressed the gas more than the brake my first time in a car, I’d never seen him more cross with me.”

Ann pictured a young Miss Lister in the Volkswagen she’d seen next to the Bentley at Shibden, that wide grin on a rebellious, juvenile face as she sped through Halifax, deaf to the frantic exclamations of the uncle seated next to her. Lord, what a nightmare she would have been. The image had Ann laughing just as hard as the woman next to her.

When they’d both calmed down, Ann found the courage to press the pedal once again, with a fraction of the intensity she’d had the first time. The Bentley did speed up considerably, but Ann still felt under control as the mansion in the distance grew closer and closer.

“There we are,” Anne said, satisfied. “You’re getting the hang of it already.”

“Surely I shan’t learn to drive in my own driveway,” 

“Don’t be daft, I’ll take you somewhere with far more space to really learn. Shall we do tomorrow? I know an empty car park nearby.”

Ann whipped her head around to show Anne her happy but bewildered expression. “Really?”

“Absolutely,” came the response. “In the meantime, you'd be smart to do some online study for the theory part of the driver's test, if you’re serious about this that is.”

Ann smiled breathlessly. “Of course I am, but would you really teach me?”

“We’re about to crash into your house,” Anne stated calmly, nodding towards the windshield which, Anne noticed, contained the large and still increasing view of her mansion; meters away. Ann slammed the brake down, causing both women to lurch forward but especially Anne, who hadn’t bothered to do up her seatbelt. Ann laughed at the scene, the usually so competent and esteemed Anne Lister; hands braced on the glove compartment to keep from smacking into it. Anne shook her head with a smile at her, the butterflies in Ann’s stomach flapping up a gust so strong she could barely breathe.

Anne composed herself, gesturing for Ann to put the car in park like how she’d taught her before, which she did so. “I can think of much worse things to do in Halifax, and besides,” she started, turning her body to face Ann again. There had been a moment before, back at Shibden, where Ann could have sworn Anne took them both to a different world when their eyes met. Now, Ann felt like she’d been transported to a whole new dimension as those eyes, sparkling like Tiger’s Eye in the sunset, narrowed at hers. “I think I’d like to see more of you, Miss Walker.”

How did a lady react to such forwardness? From a man, perhaps with a welcoming smile and a kiss to his cheek, the early seeds of a possible marriage already planted. But Anne Lister was no man. Her assumptions had been true; Anne’s sexuality was clear. But her intentions? Less so. She could not afford to misread this affection: Ann was far too tightly bound by the rule of her family and their barbed wire expectations of her. A single evening spent alone with a known criminal, even worse, a lesbian like Miss Lister? Blasphemy of the highest calibre.

That was why Ann didn’t invite Anne inside for a drink, like most women who had been shown such courtesy all afternoon might have done. “I’d like that very much,” was all she could manage to say, for there was nothing wrong with a budding friendship. At least for now. She prayed Anne was not disappointed. Ann had grown used to disappointing people, but this would hurt more than any of them.

To her relief, Anne smiled warmly, taking Ann’s hand off the handbrake to give it a firm squeeze. “Then it’s settled. I’ll be here at, say, 1 pm?”

Ann’s visitor for tomorrow, for once someone she actually enjoyed the presence of, Miss Rawson; would have taken off by then. “That sounds great,” she breathed, already giddy with excitement at the prospect of not only learning to navigate West Yorkshire without the help of some underpaid driver, but also at the knowledge that she would have Miss Lister all to herself again. Driving her car, stealing her company from others more worthy; Ann was practically drunk on the power of her presence.

And then Anne winked at her in a way so inexplicably charming that Ann could have almost reconsidered her lack of invitation inside for this handsome stranger. “Then it’s a date.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A side plot? In my silly drug-dealer AU? It's more likely than you think.
> 
> Don't worry, while the focus is still very much going to be on the Ann(e)s in this story, I thought all the pettiness and drama of the coal arc in GJ was so good I just had to incorporate it somehow. Plus, it does actually intersect with the love story, so it makes at least some sense! As always, I hope everyone reading enjoys <3

That house. Good lord, what a sight.

The image battled that of Miss Walker herself in Anne’s mind as she pulled into the Shibden Hall carport, for domination of her memories. There was no doubt that Ann and her admittedly attractive features had left a sizeable print on her brain, like the way those golden curls bounced delightfully with every giggle, but Anne would be lying if she said she wasn’t equally interested in that mansion she’d managed to get an eyeful of as Ann had clumsily parked the car.

That woman was seriously rich. And Anne was seriously interested.

Not just in the money, no. Her expectations of a dull face boring conversation had been quashed the moment they were alone together. Earlier, even; Anne was transfixed the moment their eyes had met. It was a strange feeling. Nothing she could label, and certainly not love, yet there was an unmistakable connection. A curiosity. Ann Walker was a curious creature.

Anne locked the car, dropped her keys back into her pocket and pulled out her phone instead. 6.04. Only four minutes late for her meeting.

She was practically skipping up the steps to the front door, managing just barely to compose herself as she moved through to the sitting room where Mr Washington was waiting, rising to his feet in respect when she finally arrived. “Miss Lister,” he greeted with a smile, extending his hand out. “Great to see you again.”

“Yes, how do you do?” said Anne, returning his handshake with a firm bounce. She barely even let him finish his sentence before the “Good, that’s good to hear,” signalled that the time for pleasantries was over, and the pair sat facing each other on opposite couches. “So, let’s not waste time, I’m sure your girls will be wanting their father home for dinner,” Anne started, plucking her cigarette box from her pocket.

“Aye, well, there is a bit to go over,” Mr Washington answered somewhat sheepishly. 

Anne brought the Zippo to her lips where she held the cigarette and dangled the end in its flame, inhaling the sweet poison into her lungs. She sat, legs sprawled apart, with the hand pinching her cigarette on her thigh and the other draped across the back of the couch; a rather intimating position she’d discovered after she’d watched men tremble in her presence enough times. “Well, fill me in. Let’s start with why Marian has told me that our more... working-class customers have stopped buying from us.”

Washington laughed nervously, his own palms flat on his knees, making him seem like a timid mouse in comparison to Anne despite being the physically larger of the two. “It’s not that they’ve stopped buying, they’re just buying it from our middlemen now.”

“Middlemen?” Anne hissed, sucking in the harsh smoke yet again.

“You know, the little gangs that run around these parts. We’ve been selling to them so that they can distribute it for us.”

“We’ve never done that before,” said Anne, sceptical. She trusted Washington with her life, as her uncle had done, but she had never authorized this. “We’ve always sold directly from Shibden, it maintains customer loyalty and the profit is greater.”

“Yes, but what do you want with the loyalty of a bunch of Halifax low-life’s when you could control all the gangs that threaten you instead?”

Anne was silent. She hadn’t considered that.

“Don’t think of it as us giving away our profits for the sake of ease,” Mr Washington continued. “This way, the gangs rely on us to keep them safe and supplied, so we essentially absorb them into our own ranks.”

Mr Washington had the voice of a proper Englishman; well-spoken and sophisticated, but not so posh that he sounded like an uptown Londoner. “Sure, we don’t make as much money, but its been useful not competing with them and having their taskforces on our side for once. Plus, with less time spent with customers, there’s been more time to actually create the stuff at the warehouse.”

Ah yes, the shed at the top of the hill, where Anne’s more shady staff did her dirty work for her. She made a mental note to make a direct visit there herself soon and make sure they were still using the finest quality ingredients and fertilizers. “So, if I am understanding you correctly, the House of Shibden controls all of this side of Halifax now?”

Washington made yet another anxious noise, irritating Anne only slightly. “It’s not quite that simple. Not all the gangs have, shall we say, assimilated into your ranks, ma’am. Some of them that you have been less than kind to in the past have either stayed independent or allied themselves elsewhere.”

“What do you mean, elsewhere?” Anne snapped, pulling a drag so sharp that her throat singed. 

“Mostly to the Rawsons,” Mr Washington explained carefully, “but some of them have even gone to Hinscliff. They need protection from you and your men, ma’am, we’re that powerful now.”

Anne drummed her fingers on the back of the couch. While it certainly wasn’t good news to hear that Rawson still maintained a portion of control in an area they’d been struggling to take over for a decade, the fact that they’d gained the upper hand in terms of numbers did please her. The only concern now was making sure they stayed in their quarter and kept their filthy mitts off her men, a task easier said than done. The loyalty of a common Halifax henchman was only as thick as the roll of bills you slipped into his pocket.

“I’m glad you’ve been keeping good management of the place, Mr Washington,” said Anne, tilting her chin upwards at her assistant. “Well done.”

Washington finally smiled, relaxing a little as he let loose a breath he’d apparently been holding. “Was that all then, ma’am?”

“No,” Anne said flatly. “I need to talk to you about expanding our market. Do you remember that contact I told you about in Culiacán, the one whose brother I met while I was in Hastings? I pulled a few strings on his end and managed to smuggle in a duffle bag of the finest powder Mexico has to offer, and it's sitting upstairs right this moment.”

Mr Washington’s eyebrows flew to his hairline at the very moment his jaw dropped to the floor. “Cocaine?” he exclaimed, utterly gobsmacked. “Y’mean, actual cocaine?”

“As opposed to what, fake cocaine? You think I would do such a thing?” Anne snapped. She could hardly blame him for his disbelief: the House of Shibden, or any gang that she had contact with for that matter, had never sold the UK’s most beloved drug before, simply because its sale and movement was controlled almost exclusively by the foreign mafia, powerful organizations even someone as bold as Anne Lister knew better than to get mixed up with. Importing it without their assistance was next to impossible, but Anne had always been a crafty woman; she knew she’d get her hands on the stuff sooner or later.

“I’m just a little surprised is all, you know that-“

“Yes, I know, I didn’t get it from them,” Anne interrupted, predicting the mention of said mafia instantly. “I wasn’t about to owe them any favours and risk losing my head. It took a while, but I’ve managed to get it in for just over half of what we can sell it for, I hope. That’s where you come in.”

Washington swallowed, and Anne gave him a moment to collect his thoughts in a serious of ‘ums’ and ‘ahs.’ Finally, he spoke. “Well, I’ve never helped anyone sell it before, but I can certainly find out the ins and outs for you, ma’am. Erm, how much is it?”

“Twelve bricks, about two kilos each. It’s at least eighty-five percent purity, probably more,” Anne droned off like a programmed robot, pulling one final inhale from her cigarette and squishing the butt into the ashtray. When she opened her mouth, ghostly wisps of smoke escaped and clawed at her face, climbing into the air for desperate freedom.

‘Good God, what’d you pay for that ma’am?” Mr Washington joked, raising his hands innocently when he caught sight of Anne’s unamused scowl. “Right, well, what exactly do you plan to do with it?”

Anne rolled her eyes. How could such a good estate manager be so clueless sometimes? “I’m going to sell it, of course, to the highest bidder. I was hoping you could calculate the cost per brick and offer it to both Rawson and Hinscliff. However much.”

Mr Washington frowned suddenly, his forehead creasing with confusion. “Will you not sell it yourself, ma’am?”

“I considered that, but I figured we wouldn’t have the correct skills or facilities to-“ Anne’s sentence was cut off by her own realization as the gears churned in her head, her eyes widening as though a lightbulb had just switched on in the smoky air above her. “The gangs, of course. Do you think any of them will be able to cut it?”

A greedy grin spread across Anne’s face as she pictured a bag of her very own product clutched proudly in her hands, cut with a concoction of baking soda and anaesthetic and packaged by her own men, no shortcuts. Lord, what an achievement. She could already hear the pounding of fists on the door of Shibden, those traitorous henchmen of Rawson begging for a chance to join her ranks while she sat in her study oblivious to their pleas, too busy counting heavy wads of cash at her desk to care.

“It’ll cost you a little extra and take longer but I think it’s worth considering,” Mr Washington advised his superior. He’d grown excited at the prospect too, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he strained to be closer to Anne. “I can calculate exactly how much they’ll both cost you, but keep Rawson and Hinscliff on the cards. It's worth seeing how much they’re prepared to pay.”

Anne nodded, for she knew it would be unwise to decide before she’d probably weighed the risk. While he was certainly no mafia boss, the contact in Mexico was not one to toy with; Anne knew she had to pay him back in a timely fashion, or risk receiving a finger in the mail as a warning of what was to come if she did not pick up the pace. “yes, very good, I trust you’ll have the figures for me by tomorrow?”

Mr Washington grinned. “I can have them by the end of the night. Shall I arrange for one of the Rawsons to come and chat about what you’ve got on offer?”

Anne brought a hand to her face briefly, stroking her chin as she observed the calendar that she kept a mental copy of at all times. She would be at Crow Nest at one, and with Ann until around three hypothetically; but knowing her, what would start as a couple of hours could easily stretch to several once she was in that woman’s presence. No, she didn’t want to have to deprive herself of that angelic face even for a moment. But she knew how the Rawson’s operated; the two kingpins were both respectable, discreet men, they’d be working a tough nine-to-five on a typical Monday like tomorrow. Crime hours didn’t start for them until the workday was over.

“Tell them to come over at their earliest convenience, I will be in from 5pm,” Anne concluded, pulling out her phone with the intention of rescheduling with Ann, only to kiss her teeth in annoyance when she realized she had forgotten to get her phone number. Good lord, what that woman did to her.

Ah, well. It wasn’t like Anne Lister was known for announcing her presence to the world before she waltzed into whatever event she was sure to steal all the attention in the room from. Something told her that Miss Walker wouldn’t mind in the slightest if she showed up a little earlier than promised. 12 pm still gave her five hours to win her way into Ann’s wallet, and, if she was lucky; her heart.

While it was clear that Ann felt something for her, it was difficult to tell with such women exactly how to proceed. Remaining unmarried at her age indicated one of three things; she was too much of a handful to be taken as a bride, she had new-fashioned ideas about the institution of marriage and had chosen to abstain, or her tribe were in charge of her marital status and had yet to find a suitable partner for her. Suitable meaning rich and male, of course. 

Anne thought it was most certainly the latter. If it were up to her, surely she would have taken a wife by now as despite the ‘sickness’ her aunt had spoken of, Ann seemed perfectly marriageable. It could still be true that she simply had no desire to marry, but that did not explain her lack of consorts and intact virginity, which Anne, as the avid collector of them that she was, noticed on Ann from a mile away. No, Ann had been locked away like a prized wine until she was fit to be opened by someone of the family’s picking. There existed then, the task of convincing her to unlock her mind to the possibilities of independence, of rebellion and pride, of a life without judgement at her side.

But if she succeeded, oh, what a life they could have together.

“Ma’am?” a voice called out suddenly, and Anne crashed back down from cloud nine into reality. Anne blinked, eyes darting over to an expectant looking Mr Washington. “The cocaine?”

“What? What about it?” 

“Could I pop upstairs to have a look at it? Then I’ll head back home and get those numbers ready for you.”

Anne sighed, rather anxious for this conversation, no, this day to be over. “Fine. And let yourself out when you’re done, I’ll see you here with Mr Rawson tomorrow.”

Mr Washington nodded, shaking Anne’s hand once more before taking his leave, a series of loud thumps following in his wake as he made his way up the stairs. Anne sighed, her fingers twitching to pull out another cigarette but her body’s fatigue denying her so. It was still only sunset, but it had barely even been sunrise when Anne had first scrambled out of bed to pack her things to leave Hastings. Not to mention the great energy expenditure she’d used while purging Vere from her mind on the drive up.

Anne waited until those clunky footsteps had clopped down the stairs again and straight out of the door, before trudging upstairs herself, poking her head into her aunt’s room for a moment to say goodnight and collapsing into her own bed; asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

*****

Books, bonnets, baskets. Ann couldn’t remember the last time she’d been quite so bored. When she’d first invited Catherine over last week to help her pack, she’d been excited; after all, the Lake District was simply beautiful in the Summer. But that was before she’d met Miss Lister.

Now that it meant being away from her for over a week, she wasn’t even sure if she still wanted to go.

“Are you taking your watercolours?” a voice piped up from behind her as she sat at her vanity, toying with the tiny figure of a dancing woman that spun on a point in her jewellery box. Poor thing. Ann felt much like her; trapped in this vortex of idle chatter and one-way conversations but bound to wear a sickly plastic smile and keep dancing. Keep talking.

“Yes, of course.”

She hated to be rude, but Catherine had unfortunately arrived at a terrible time for receiving Ann’s attention; all of which had been selfishly stolen by Anne Lister. Even now as her best friend was in her presence; she couldn’t pull her mind away from her; that sharp face, so perfectly constructed, Ann thought she might cut herself on that keen jawline if she dared touch her. Oh, how she wanted to. Even knowing she’d be hurt; by either her family or Anne herself, curiosity had got the better of her.

She’d been like this since she got home, struggling to think about anything else for the rest of the evening until she’d eventually fallen into a fitful sleep, stomach constricting with excitement at what the next day held. By morning, she was calm enough to at least make a start on that theory study Anne had mentioned, only just managing to memorize the give way rules at a roundabout before Miss Rawson arrived.

She had hoped her friend would be a distraction from the nagging little metaphysical Anne Lister that had taken up residence in her brain, but if anything, she only wanted to see her more now that she was forced to give her attention to someone else without her study or drawing to distract her.

“And what books are you taking?” Miss Rawson asked again, the rustle of paper that followed indicating that she’d found one nearby. “The Highway Code? What’s this?”

Well, it had to be mentioned sooner or later. “Oh, I had James go out and fetch that for me yesterday, Miss Lister said I’ll need it for my driving test,” Ann explained. She’d mentioned that she was on the road to the licence already, grateful that Catherine didn’t seem to hold too much judgement. Or maybe she was also growing tired of limousines and their blank-faced drivers.

It was not the licence herself that Catherine seemed to have an issue with, as Ann was soon to find out. “You’ve talked about nothing but Miss Lister since I got here,” Catherine muttered, slamming the book in her hands closed.

“Have I?” Ann asked, feigning surprise. Of course, she had. What else was there to talk about?

“You do know what people say about her, don’t you?”

Now at this Ann found some focus, and not just because it was finally an opportunity to talk about Anne. “What?” she asked, pushing her irritation at Catherine’s tone down with the lid of her jewellery box as she turned to face her friend. “What do people say about her?”

Catherine’s gaze sank to the floor. Ann spoke again, louder. “No, come on Catherine, you can’t just say something like that and then not explain it.”

Of course, Ann already knew what was to be said before it had even been put into the ether. And yet for the sake of appearance, Ann forced herself to look at least somewhat shocked when Catherine shared her ‘theory’ that Anne Lister might be, god forbid, a homosexual. 

Yes, Ann put on the jaw-dropped expression that she was all too used to wearing when rumours of this breed surfaced, but that didn’t mean she had to be complicit in the ill-mannered ways in which they were spoken. “Well, regardless, she’s still one of the most clever and interesting people I’ve ever met and you would do well to stop acting like she’s some kind of beast.”

“Well,” Catherine retorted, seemingly holding back an anger of her own. “I just don’t know how you do it, be around her. Couldn’t be me.”

Ann frowned. “What do you mean?”

Catherine made a ‘you know’ face and a crude gesture with her hands. Once the pieces fit together in Ann’s head, she couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped her lips even when Catherine looked at her like she’d gone mad. “What, you think she’d fancy you? Just because she fancies women?”

A hot shade of red spread across Catherine’s cheeks as she dropped her head once more. “Well, I don’t know! I’ve heard things and I just-“

Ann couldn’t entertain the thought even for a moment unless she was mocking it, which she took great pleasure in doing so. “Do you fancy every single man you see when you step outside?” she asked, still struggling to keep from erupting into giggles again.

It felt good to finally share the thoughts she so often had during conversations like these, but it would have been unthinkable any other time. Ann thought for a moment why that was, what exactly was it about Anne Lister that imbuned her with such confidence? Perhaps it was simply the aura Anne seemed to emanate from her at all times, and she’d absorbed it and brewed her own with it through some kind of ego-synthesis. Perhaps it was in her all along, and Anne had been the spark she needed to ignite this flame of outward social justice. Granted, it was only a small ember; if Anne were in her position she’d probably rise to her feet and perform a musical number about how little shame she had for her sexuality, and urge Ann to join her for the encore.

She was lucky Catherine was such a dear friend, or she might have more than a bit of explaining to do to the rest of the tribe. “No,” Catherine stammered, nervous. “I’ve just heard things about her, that’s all. She’s charming, you don’t know she’s putting you under her spell until you’re, you know, under it.”

Finally, Catherine had said something of value to Ann. She wasn’t sure if ‘spell’ was the right words to describe the feeling, but it wasn’t far off. Anne was captivating, without a doubt. Even her minute details like the way she twiddled the fingers of her free hand while she drove or the laugh lines that went down from her nose to her mouth that made her smile seem so much fuller had Ann dizzy with want. But ‘spell’ was too harsh a word. This was her own decision. No one else.

“I wouldn’t worry, Catherine,” said Ann, turning back to her vanity and flashing the Ann opposite her in the mirror a knowing smirk. “You’re not her type.”

Before Catherine could demand what that was supposed to mean or some other outburst, two faint knocks alerted the pair to James’ presence outside the door. “Come in,” Ann allowed him, watching curiously as her butler entered and cleared his throat professionally before speaking.

“Miss Lister is here to see you, ma’am.”

Ann’s heart simultaneously froze and leapt up to her throat, making the girl cough in surprise. “But it’s only twelve!” she said, mostly to herself as she glanced at the clock on the wall. 

Catherine pursed her lips, rising to her feet. “I, for one, would quite like to meet her now.”

Ann held back a scowl, but nodded, for what else could she do? As much as she’d prefer to be alone with Anne, that would surely set off all sorts of alarms in her friend’s head, not to mention the rather hazardous conversation they’d just left unfinished. So without protest, Anne allowed James to lead the two of them downstairs, a swarm of moths and butterflies battling one another to determine if she was more excited or scared for how the next few hours would unfold.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, this one's a little long and just a teensy bit boring but there's plot and cute stuff I swear! As always, thank you to everyone who has left me a comment or kudos, it really does mean the world to me and I hope y'all are enjoying reading this as much as I am writing it!

It was almost midday when Anne finally woke up, head pounding from excess sleep and the harsh sunlight streaming into the room. It was shaping up to be a dry summer, the kind of temperature that makes you crave liquid like a desert animal. There wasn’t a single droplet of humidity, only air as dry as the dust particles Anne could see floating in the bright bands of sunlight above her bed as she sat up in it.

She rubbed her eyes, then temples. Reached for the phone on her bedside table, the sight of several texts from Mr Washington zapping her brain with just enough charge to wake up, unlocking the phone with a quick tap of her thumb to reveal the message history.

**[Washington]: Jeremiah Rawson will be at Shibden around 5pm. Also, we ran the numbers. Looking at about £25000 per brick on the high end, but you’ll have to do some hustling to get anyone to agree to that price. It’s what its worth, though. As for selling it yourself, it's an estimate but it'll be about £1000 at least. **

Anne turned the number over in her mind, looked at it from all sides. Sniffed it. Chewed the fat of it in her mouth. Spat it out. Turned it over again. It was chump change, really, her own shoes cost most than that. But that was precisely the reason she needed more time to think. When one slapped £1000 on a counter for some shoes, they served you well. Shoes weren't disloyal, you got what you paid for. Sinking £1000 into an operation she had no guarantee of succeeding in was a different story. One she needed to revisit. As for the price of the bricks, he was right about the hustle; she certainly wouldn’t be easily swayed to pay such a steep price if she were interested in purchasing. But it was a savage market out there, and she didn’t have anyone else to put her faith in but Washington.

**[Washington]: You might also be interested in a tip we picked up from a contact over on the continent, a seller in Switzerland got word that you’re back and is interested in having you distribute something for him. Wants to meet with you in Bern, next week.**

Good lord, she’d only been here five minutes and already she was expected elsewhere. Anne could hardly complain, she did so love to travel; well, she loved being in the countries she was travelling to, at least. The act of getting there was an entirely different story, much less pleasant. Although, both the transport and the time spent in the new location could both be enriched by a certain someone she knew, Anne pondered, biting her smiling lower lip.

**[Anne]: Send over his number and tell him I’ll see him soon.**

Anne didn’t even wait for the message to finish sending before tossing her phone aside and standing up proudly to face the day. She padded over to the mirror, frowning at the dismal sight of dishevelled hair and sleep-dust crusted in the corner of her eyes. She was in no state to greet a lady, no. It was time to get dressed up.

*****

A little over an hour later and a properly primed Anne was waltzing past the huge, heavy door that protected Ann Walker’s fortune, kindly opened for her by a rather baby-faced man who introduced himself as James Mackenzie.

While the loyal butler scurried upstairs to fetch his mistress, Anne took a moment to soak in as much of Ann’s mansion as she could. The grand foyer where she stood alone must have been at least the size of Shibden’s entire ground floor; pristine marble stretching out in all directions, even upwards in huge pillars that held up the top floor walkway like inside a Greek palace. An enormous staircase spilt from the second floor down to land in the centre of the foyer, each individual step growing wider until, at the bottom, the final, curved step took up a large portion of the floor space. On either side of it, Anne could mark two hallways that went farther into the house; the left of which contained a large, arched door built into the wall that presumably lead into the sitting room, whereas the sliding doors on the opposite wall in the right hallway allowed passage into a spacious, sunny courtyard, which Anne could just barely observe through the crack between the wooden doors.

She tilted her head up, where she could see that the top of the stairs, one would move onto a carpet walkway that extended all the way around back to the side she’d walked in from in a square shape; but it only protruded about a meter from the walls, so looking up from the ground floor you could still see the arched, handcrafted ceiling of the house itself. Which was, Anne noted longingly, magnificent. The upstairs walkway itself protected clumsy sleepwalkers from a nasty fall with gold railings, Anne could only just see past them to see that several doors were neatly arranged in the walls; bedrooms, no doubt. Anne couldn’t help but wonder which one of the at least five of them belonged to Ann.

Judging by the footsteps she heard coming from above and behind where she was standing, it must have been one of the bedrooms tucked well into the corner. Anne turned on her heel to see three sets of shoes walking along the path, eyes following them until all three and their owners came into view at the top of the stairs. The butler, as expected. Miss Walker, apparently caught between a smile and a grimace, and… someone else.

Someone who did not look entirely pleased to see her.

Regardless, Anne put on a smile and waited patiently for the trio to make their way down the luxurious marble steps, taking Ann’s hand in her own once she was near enough to the bottom to help her to the floor. “Miss Walker, Miss Rawson,’” James started once all feet were planted on flat ground. He turned to Anne, holding his arm out to present her like fine art. “Miss Lister.”

Anne nodded him a gratitude, watching him bow and take his leave before throwing a hand out in the stranger’s direction. “Miss Rawson,” she beamed, the surname of her rival tasting sour in her mouth. “How do you do?”

Miss Rawson looked at Ann with an emotion Anne couldn’t quite recognize, before tentatively taking Anne’s hand in her own and allowing her to shake it. “I’m well, thank you. I didn’t realize Miss Walker had already made plans,” she practically spat.

It was nothing Anne wasn’t used to. She found people who had consumed even a mere morsel from the overflowing pot of rumours about her treated her in ways that instantly alerted her to the fact. Some were afraid. Some were curious. Many, like Miss Rawson, were disgusted.

Perhaps that was too harsh a word. The girl didn’t look like she was planning to chop her hand off after Anne let it go. She seemed more like the type to just wash it instead. The similar behaviour of Ann indicated that a squabble may have taken place, in which case Anne would normally have made her excuses and found something better to do by now, but for Ann; she was willing to play peacekeeper. Just as long as Miss Rawson didn’t try her patience too hard.

“No, I’m intruding, forgive me,” said Anne, lowing her head a fraction in penitence, but showing no signs of being prepared to leave. “I was going to call ahead and let you know, Miss Walker, but I forgot to take your number yesterday. There’s been a change of plan.”

“Oh?” Ann piped up. “Are we still going for a drive?”

“Yes, but if it's possible I’d like to go a bit earlier, I have a meeting with Mr Rawson,” Anne replied, turning to face Miss Rawson with a plastic smile. “A cousin of yours I believe?”

Miss Rawson said nothing but turned to look at Ann again, who seemed to be either telepathically reasoning or pleading with her. 

Anne continued. “I won’t be able to take my meeting with Mr Rawson until five at the absolute earliest and that would have only given us four hours together, not nearly enough time. So, I elected we start earlier, my apologies for not realizing you had company.”

Ann opened her mouth presumably to insist that it was okay that Anne was early but was abruptly cut off by Miss Rawon’s angry snap. “Four hours is plenty, don’t you think?”

Correction: perhaps she would go home and toss that hand that the filthy homosexual had touched into a pit of fire after all.

Before Anne could attempt to reconcile with this woman she hadn’t even had the pleasure of falling out with, she spoke again. “It’s fine. I was just leaving. I’ll call the driver right away.”

Anne watched as Ann clutched the arm of her friend, pulling it with just enough force to keep her from the pocket on her dress which no doubt contained her phone. “Come on, Catherine. Don’t be like that.”

“You’re clearly too busy,” Catherine seethed back at Ann, the venom blazing in her gaze telling Anne all she needed to know about what had occurred in the minutes prior to her arrival. The shallow pools of tears that Ann’s glassy eyes were drowning in also told Anne that she was in for a rough afternoon if she didn’t fix this somehow. 

Anne sighed inwardly while the women bickered, wondering to herself how exactly she’d gotten here. This was exactly the kind of petty nonsense that she so despised amongst both her peers and her lovers, yet here she was; compromising herself for someone else’s interests. At least it would earn her some clout with the Rawsons.

“Come now, there’s no need to be cross, Miss Rawson,” Anne tried, receiving a glare that could have turned the marble pillar to their right to a puddle in an instant. But Anne’s smile was hard as diamond, and she would not be swayed. “Where do you live? I’ll take you home. That way, you and Miss Walker can spend a bit more time together. I feel terrible, infringing on your time with her, this way I can make it up to you. How does that sound?”

Miss Rawson’s face softened, if only partially. Before she could answer, Ann stepped over to stand next to Anne and pulled her friend’s hand with her. “I think that’s a wonderful idea,” she said, smiling up at Anne for a moment, the sight of which made her feel like she was walking on the moon. “Right, Catherine?”

Miss Rawson shifted from one foot to the other, her forehead creased in thought. “I wouldn’t want to be a nuisance to you…”

“Nonsense,” Anne lied through a toothy smile. “How impolite of me to barge in unexpectedly and not at the very least compensate you both for my indiscretion.”

“Miss Lister is a great driver,” said Ann, standing close enough to Anne that their shoulders just barely touched. Anne was glad to still be smiling at Miss Rawson as an excuse to look so happy.

Finally, the woman sighed, making an exasperated gesture of shrugging. “I’ll have to go upstairs and collect my things, I didn’t realize we would be leaving already.”

Ann sighed in relief next to Anne. “Could you grab my purse too while you’re up there? I left it on the vanity.”

Miss Rawson raised her eyes to the hemispherical, chandelier-holding ceiling far above them, before turning to make her ascent up those grand stairs once more. Anne finally turned to look at Ann, lips parting in a grin as her gaze rolled over Ann’s outfit for the day. A Summery number appropriate for the pleasant temperature outside; a Lolita-Esque pastel blue dress with a skirt and sleeves so puffy they made her look like she might defy gravity if she jumped up too high.

Anne took both Ann’s hands in hers, giving them both a delicate squeeze as she took in her face again; she was even more stunning in the daylight that streamed through the windows and bounced off the blinding marble around them. “And how are you, Miss Walker?” she asked, biting her lip when she giggled nervously and averted her gaze.

“I’m feeling better now that you’re here,” said Ann, quietly. “We were arguing before you got here. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that she would be here, it’s just when you said one I thought that-“

Ann seemed to choke on her sentence, shaking her head in frustration when the words couldn’t quite make it to her lips. Anne gave the small hands in hers another firm squeeze, stroking her thumb over the emerald ring on her index finger. “There’s no need to apologize. I’m the one who has caused an inconvenience to you. I’m sorry if I’ve caused any conflict.”

“No, please don’t worry. I’m glad you’re here,” Ann said quickly, finding her voice. She returned Anne’s smile for a moment, before that pink colour that Anne was getting all too familiar with surfaced on her cheeks and she looked down to their still connected hands again. Anne watched her gaze fixate on her well-defined knuckles, the obsidian ring around one of them, trailing up to her bare forearm where suddenly, those icy blue eyes widened in surprise.

“You have a tattoo, I didn’t notice it before” Ann breathed, dropping Anne’s hands to clutch her arm in both of hers. Ann turned the arm over like a precious artefact, inspecting it from all angles with a curious fervour that Anne found both adorable and amusing. Today, she was wearing a button-up similar to yesterday’s but in white, with the same belt and trousers to match. This shirt, however, had been rolled up to her elbows in the heat of the day, exposing the previously hidden body art.

“Yes, I’ve had it for a while now,” Anne answered, examining it herself. It wasn’t her first, but it was the only one Ann would be seeing any time soon unless she got to know her a little more intimately. It was a simple piece done by an independent artist in Birmingham; a set of playing cards spread across her forearm, no harmony to it besides the two corresponding jacks in the centre of the scatter; of hearts on the top of her forearm, of diamonds on the other side. 

Ann turned her arm over several times, eyebrows knitting together as she struggled to figure out what they meant. “Why the jack? In the middle, here,” she asked, thumb brushing over the card in question.

“It’s after a nickname I picked up at a lodging where I used to play poker. I once had a rather unhealthy fondness for gambling,” Anne explained somewhat sheepishly, hoping not to bring up old memories of liquor-soaked breath and brawls that had taken place in her reckless youth to this woman she very much wanted to impress. “But, even after I found more pleasurable hobbies, the nickname stuck with me. I still adore the game, but I’ve taken to playing it casually now. Perhaps we’ll have to have a match one day.”

Instead of the shy giggle she’d been expecting from such a remark, Anne tensed at the feel of a soft finger tracing the lines of the jack underneath her arm, following the lines all the way around to its partner on the opposite side, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in her wake. “Which one are you?” she asked quietly, her nail ever so gently scratching at the red heart in the corner of one of the inky cards.

Their eyes met, for Ann had somehow found the courage to look up once more, eyes sparkling like melting icicles with curiosity. Anne lowered her head just a fraction, holding her breath when she did not move away, both of those dainty hands still holding her arm with a tenderness Anne had not felt since she was touched by someone whose name she no longer cared to recall. Anne parted her lips with her tongue, the sight of which made Ann take in a sharp breath, before her sentence slipped out of them smoother than whiskey: “That depends on who you ask.”

For a few moments, frozen in time, they stared. Neither woman was inclined to say anything; the tension between them was like a barrier to any sound that wasn’t that of their own breathing, which Anne could almost feel on her skin, now. From here, Anne could see the way Ann’s eyebrows twitched ever so slightly when she was concentrating, the way the tight skin around her collarbone was stretched when she tensed. She longed to feel it beneath her own fingertips, that flesh pulled taught by a dry, nervous swallow. 

Anne was almost grateful when the loud clack of heels came marching down the stairs, for she wasn’t sure how much longer she could resist learning the taste of those pretty pink lips. Patience was not a virtue she cared for when it came to women like Ann. She, on the other hand, looked rather crestfallen when Miss Rawson came to stand with them at the base of the stairs, thrusting Ann’s purse into her arms less than kindly.

“Alight,” Anne forced herself to start, clapping her hands together to bring everyone’s attention to her. Ann’s attention especially, she noticed, was still trained on the artwork etched into her forearm even after she’d commanded everyone’s gaze to herself. “Shall we head off?”

When she received no protests, Anne nodded and lead the way out of the palace handcrafted by the gods that Miss Walker called home, tossing her keys once up into the air as she stepped outside before pressing the Bentley unlocked when they were back in her hands. She didn’t ask Miss Rawson what she thought; nor did she acknowledge her remarks of ‘wow’, or whatever it was that she said. She was being civil for Ann’s sake, but she had no intention of making a friend out of Miss Rawson. 

Anne waited until Ann had finished locking up the mansion and had skittered over to stand with the other two women before she spoke again. “So,” she began, pulling open the driver’s side door of the Bentley. “Which one of you is in the back?”

Anne yanked the driver’s seat backrest forward, folding it inwards to reveal the minuscule amount of space reserved for backseat passengers. Ann took one look at the grimace on her friend's face before stepping towards the open door obediently. “I will. Catherine, you should sit in the front with Miss Lister.”

Shuddering at the mention of her name, Miss Rawson shoved Ann aside. “No, it’s fine. I’ll sit in the back,” she stated, awkwardly hobbling into the tiny nook behind the front passenger seat. Even then, there was so little space that she was forced to hug her knees to her chest just to be able to sit down.

Ann looked desperately at Anne, who pinched the bridge of her nose. Two's company, that was the reason she’d purchased a vehicle with such a design to begin with. “Miss Rawson, why don’t you rest your legs across the back seat here,” Anne offered, swallowing her pride as she gestured to empty space behind the driver’s seat. “And lean on the door.”

“That doesn’t sound very safe,” Miss Rawson hissed, but she swung her legs up onto the back seat anyway, making Anne bit her tongue to resist scolding her for scraping her high heels over the pristine leather seats. It was still rather cramped, with Miss Rawson needing to scoot her rear end towards the middle seat and lean back as she was too tall to sit upright in the tiny space, but it would have to do. Anne pushed the driver’s seat back into its natural position and swung herself in, locking Miss Rawson in the claustrophobic cabin behind her.

Once Ann had settled her puffy dress into the passenger seat, Anne twisted the key in the ignition, her car purring affectionately at the return of its owner. Ann was in the same state of excitement that she had been on the first ride, eyes scanning over every last inch of the Bentley as though it had been years since she saw it and not barely twenty-four hours. “Well, go on, put her in drive,” Anne offered, nodding towards the two levers between her and Ann.

Ann’s hands were on the gear shift before the sentence had even fully left Anne’s mouth. Anne watched those lithe fingers pull the gear shift back two notches and slam the hand break down, grinning proudly when the Bentley’s rumbling grew loud enough to indicate it was ready for transport. “I’m glad you remembered,” 

Ann was seemingly too shy to find a way to respond, or perhaps she didn’t want to say too much in front of her friend. But after catching the shy smile playing on Ann’s lips, Anne tapped the accelerator and sent the Bentley into motion at last.

“So, where exactly are we going Miss Rawson?” Anne asked eventually, bringing the car to a halt at the end of the driveway, silently praying she wouldn’t have to make a day out of fixing a mistake as silly as this.

Miss Rawson was quiet for a moment before answering in a voice as flat and blank as a piece of paper: “Bradley.”

“Bradley,” Anne repeated, trying not to let her relief show as she flicked the indicator on the side of the wheel upwards to signal right. “Marvellous, we’ll take the motorway, we can be there in fifteen minutes,” she continued, briefly glancing at her watch before leaning forward to check the oncoming traffic. She was aware of a diligent pair of eyes on her as she did this, normally a treat to have earned the attention of but somewhat distracting as she attempted to gauge a suitable time to enter the busy chaos of cars returning from to work their lunch breaks.

No, every time she looked over her shoulder to check the traffic from that side, that curious face had her forgetting the very reason she was looking in that direction in the first place. If not to admire her, that was. Now that simply wouldn’t do. “Ann,” Anne asked, feeling a needle-like glare stabbing into her from the back seat at her liberal use of Ann’s first name, “could you please tell me when I’m clear to move on your side?”

“Oh, you mean when there are no cars?” Ann asked, and Anne nodded in clarification. She knew that already, that much was obvious, but nerves had a funny way of making one forget something you were certain you knew. 

Regardless, she still managed to tear her eyes off Anne long enough to spot a clear patch in the fray, signalling it to Anne with a bubbly “okay go, quickly ” which Anne made full use of by stomping the pedal so hard all three passengers were pushed by an invisible force back into their seats. Anne whirled the car onto the road and maintained the speed, toeing the fine line between legal and reckless. Crow Nest was in a much classier part of Halifax, no graffiti or beaten up cars on this end, only posh, Prada sunglasses-wearing folk walking their poodles on gem-encrusted leashes.

Speaking of glasses, Anne reached into a compartment in front of the gear shift with her free hand and fished out her own pair of Aviator shades, fitting them with a practised precision. “That sun is certainly something,” Anne remarked, as the silence was beginning to vex her. 

“It certainly is when you’re stuck back here,” said Miss Rawson. “It’s too hot. Put the air conditioner on, please.”

As much as it pained her to admit it, the woman was right. She’d parked the car under a shade at Crow Nest to prevent the black paint from baking the car from the outside in while she was inside the house, but after barely a few minutes driving the sun, the seats were already starting to grow sticky with sweat and heat. Anne eyes the various buttons of her car’s control panel as they pulled up to a traffic light; its arrangement was annoyingly different to that of the Mercedes she’d drive before this. 

Just when she’d grown frustrated enough to kiss her teeth, a bright red button just above the gear shift caught her attention. Now, she’d known the Bentley had the option to lose its roof, it was yet another reason she’d been so tempted by it during that incredibly intoxicated evening two days ago. She had been waiting for the right moment to try it out, preferably alone with Ann on a starry night, but she was already sweating buckets in her tight button up and they hadn’t even reached the motorway yet. 

Yes, it would appear as though a chance like this would be stupid to sniff at. So with a sly wink at the intrigued looking Ann seated next to her, Anne gave the red button a firm push, leaning back proudly in her seat as the very ceiling above them suddenly began to recoil. “Does this suit you, Miss Rawson?” Anne asked, flicking another button to wind down both hers and Ann’s windows.

When she didn’t receive a response, Anne craned her neck to look behind her, only to be met with the sight of a jaw dropped Miss Rawson; staring with enormous, moon-sized pupils at the sudden lack of the roof above her. The light ahead glowed green just before the roof had safely clicked into the holding compartment, but it continued to move even after Anne had tapped the gas pedal, finally sealing itself away once they were cruising.

“I wondered if you’d do that yesterday,” Ann breathed, in equal awe at her car’s marvel as Miss Rawson. “But I didn’t want to ask.”

“I didn’t yesterday because it was a little too chilly for my liking,” Anne answered, resting an elbow on the door next to her in the absence of a window to stop her. All she needed now was a piping hot smoke between her lips, Anne thought, and she would have really channelled her inner rich show-off. “But it’s awfully hot today, and I think we could all stand to enjoy the breeze, don’t you think?”

Ann did not respond to this statement, probably because she was to busy eyeballing Anne’s tattoo as the forearm muscles underneath it clenched when she turned the wheel. Instead, Anne glanced back for a moment to Miss Rawson, hoping she would understand the action as a prompt for her response.

Thankfully, she did. “The breeze is great, Miss Lister,” she remarked, sounding much angrier than she probably was given that she had to yell to be heard above the roaring air as they tore down the street.

Volume aside, the temporary stun caused by the Bentley’s convertible gravitas had clearly worn off, and Anne would need to work a little harder for Miss Rawson’s approval. Thankfully, she knew exactly what an uptight woman like Miss Rawson was missing in her otherwise perfectly pampered life. “Just you wait until we reach this motorway, I’ve never done it in this before but I’m sure with the roof down it’ll be great fun.”

“What are you taking the motorway for?” Miss Rawson demanded as Anne slowed to a stop at another traffic light, awaiting their turn to move onto the motorway in question. “You’d be faster to just go around the houses.”

“Yes, but what’s the fun in that? I disturbed you, the least I could do is take you both for a joyride.”

Anne sensed, rather than saw, Miss Rawson yet again raise her eyes to the bright, cloudless sky above her. “It’s only a motorway.”

Anne grinned, the tip of her leather-clad foot anxiously prodding the gas pedal as she stared at the lights through her tinted glasses. “You haven’t driven with me before, Miss Rawson,” Anne said, either in warning or enticement, it didn’t matter; as the very second the lights had changed colour, the pedal was on the floor.

The Bentley’s smooth vibrations climbed to a loud buzz as the speedometer continued to spin well over 80km/h, the rest of the motorway they were currently joining coming into view as they drew closer to the merge. Anne felt a strand of hair whacked loose by the harsh wind, but she didn’t care; it flew behind her like a flag of honour. Nor did Ann when a few of her own golden locks were snatched from their various clips and pins by the same force, she could only laugh and let them fly at the back of her, like a homage to a meticulous morning of grooming now wasted. Anne longed to look at her as she laughed, that face lit up brighter than the very sun that beat down on them, but she was far too focused on weaving between the cars of lesser class and speed surrounding them, only bothering to indicate for about half of her reckless over-takings.

From behind her, Anne heard a frantic voice demand if their current speed and trajectory was legal, to which her return of question of who exactly that mattered to was given instead by Ann, who turned all the way around to encourage her friend. Anne could hardly believe it; this woman was meant to be ill, wasn’t she? She had anticipated she’d have to calm her nerves through the journey at least a little.

Yet here she was, hair blown like they were riding through a wind tunnel, telling her closest friend to let go of the very inhibitions Anne thought that she herself had possessed. When the cheer of Miss Rawson eventually sounded and was carried off by the wind they were ripping through, Anne confirmed two things: the first was that fast cars and sunshine were, as she’d thought, a certified way into a woman’s heart, and two, Ann Walker was not nearly as shut-in as she’d first thought.

At least not in Anne’s presence, it seemed.

****

When the Bentley finally pulled into the small, yet still grand driveway of the Bradley house, Miss Rawson and Miss Walker had been chattering non-stop ever since Ann had finally convinced her friend to live a little. By the time the laughing had ceased, the pair of them could hardly keep their whiplashed eyes open, each of their lovingly crafted hairdos so carelessly unravelled. 

Miss Rawson had still seemed apprehensive when she’d finally muttered goodbye, but Anne was confident she had left a positive impression. Or perhaps neutral was the correct term, since she was simply fighting for balance with the pre-conceived negative ideas Miss Rawson no doubt held about her. As long as she wasn’t poisoning the rest of Ann’s social circle against her, it would do.

The whole trip had only eaten into about half an hour of her time with Ann, so the sun was still shining proudly down on the pair as they cruised through Halifax, east from Crow Nest. After dropping Miss Rawson off they had quickly picked up on an unfinished discussion from the motorway about why exactly Anne didn’t back Leeds in the Premier League, a heated one that was only just settled by the time Anne had pulled into the enormous car park she intended to use for today’s lesson.

The Bentley slowed to a half in the centre of the wide space, a much calmer breeze than the fierce motorway wind blowing over the open roof and making the scorching heat at least somewhat tolerable. The car was still practically an oven, however, and Anne had been baking in it for far too long, now. She desperately needed some nicotine.

Anne pulled her cigarette box from her pocket, waving it briefly at Ann to answer the unasked question of why they weren’t practising right now that dangled from her lips. “So,” she said, pulling one slim Malboro soldier from the dwindling army of others, closing her teeth gently around the filter so she could still speak with it in her mouth. “I thought that went well.”

Ann smiled at her hands clasped around the purse she held on her lap. “It did. At least, it went better than I thought it would. Thank you.”

“Better than you thought it would?” Anne asked, holding a cupped hand around her Zippo as she lit the cigarette to protect it from the wind. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, just before you came. She was saying some... things, about you, I thought she’d be angry the whole time we were driving” Ann mumbled, and Anne could see her bare shoulders tense. She longed to rub them, to reassure her that it was okay. She’d known Miss Rawson had misgivings about her, that was the very reason she’d put the effort into mending her tarnished reputation.

“What sort of… things?” said Anne, emphasising the final word to signal her disbelief in such rumours. It prompted a small smile from Ann, but she was still visibly anxious. 

“I’m sure you’ve heard them before,” Ann said quickly. Anne could tell it wasn’t something she wanted to discuss, perhaps she was trying to convince herself that they weren’t true. No, that wasn’t right. More likely she was still shaken up by the fight that had taken place before she’d arrived.

Anne didn’t push her. “What was she doing there, anyway? She surely didn’t turn up just to spread rumours about me,” said Anne, breathing the hot smoke into her lungs. With her free hand, she lazily swiped her thumb in and out of the still exposed Zippo flame; a trick she’d learned at a London casino. 

“Oh, she was just helping me pack. We’re off on holiday next week.”

Hearing this, something stabbed at Anne’s insides, but she didn’t dare show it. “Which holiday?” she asked calmly, eyebrows furrowed only slightly as she took yet another long drag of her Malboro.

“To the Lake District, it’s all been planned out. We go every year, sometimes twice.”

Anne nodded, her thumbnail slicing the blue flame in her hands like a ghostly sword. “How long are you going for?” she said, a little more intensely than she would have liked.

“Three weeks. And, this is the thing…”

Now Ann was talking about how she didn’t want to go, something about Miss Rawson getting bored of her. Anne wasn’t really listening. She knew how this went; she didn’t want to be apart for so long, but she’d have to, and in that time away some concerned family member would get wind of her new friend and speak just the right amount of poison to strike a fear of Anne into her innocent heart. She’d heard it before. Their words were calculated, sharp, like the stinging pain that coursed through her thumb. 

Like the sizzle she could swear she could hear as she carelessly let her thumb sit in the Zippo flame for a second too long.

“Ah! Good lord!” Anne winced suddenly, snapping the lighter shut. It fell to the floor of the car with a muffled thump. She cradled her injured hand in the other, the thumb red hot and twitching like she’d been playing with a faulty battery.

Ann leaned forward over the glovebox, gasping at the sight of the welts already starting to materialize on Anne’s skin. “Oh god, you’re burned!” she cried, lifting Anne’s hands up with her own to better see the wound.

“It’s fine,” Anne lied, speaking through clenched teeth. It was not fine. She felt like she'd dipped her thumb into a puddle of lava. There was a particularly crisp band of skin where the metal of the ignition had caught her, grilling the flesh like a barbeque. “It’s nothing.”

“Shh, I’ve got some aloe vera in my purse,” Ann retorted, digging around for the item in question.

Anne shook her head, embarrassed at her own amateur mistake. “I’m fine, really. It’s-”

“It’s not fine,” a voice interrupted her suddenly, and Anne found herself suddenly met with a pair of glacial eyes almost cool enough to freeze the fire that burned beneath the skin of her thumb. “You’re hurt. Let me help, please. You don’t have to act so tough.”

Anne opened her mouth to deny an ‘act’ of toughness, but the sheer compassion on that angelic face had once against left her speechless. Anne watched her pluck a small, green tube from her purse and squeeze a generous blob onto her own fingers. 

“Let me,” she said softly, and Anne didn’t object when those same fingers began massaging the gel into her scorched skin, the welcome moisture on her parched thumb making Anne groan in relief. Her eyes remained trained on the woman who applied it, watching every twitch of her eyebrow as she concentrated, the utter lack of judgement on her features. Here was someone who cared for her wellbeing, above all else at that moment. Here was someone that Anne couldn’t bear to be without for three weeks.

So, before she had time to consider it for even a second longer, the words tumbled out of her mouth like she’d been holding them in for a decade.

“Would you like to come to Switzerland with me?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you thought with kudos or a comment, or tell me what you'd like to see more/less of! Feedback is greatly appreciated <3


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